True Blood UK Series 2: One By One
by Vixen-Von-Rouge
Summary: Having thought that their troubles were over, the pack are now faced with a terrifying enemy that makes Elizabeth look tame and puts every werewolf in the county in danger. Meanwhile, Hannah is put through her paces with her new position and Rosie is faced with a ghost from her past. (Copyright 2014 by SJ Wickham only for the original characters and storyline.)
1. Chapter 1

The she-wolf tears through the forest, jumping over fallen logs and dodging through the trees. It's been years since Samantha has stepped foot in this part of the woods but somehow remembers the route to the flower field it as if it were only yesterday. She can hear the paws of a bigger wolf following her; Gaspard is hot on her trail, following her every twist and turn, trying to keep up whilst making his way through the unknown territory. Samantha stops at the edge of a wide clearing that's covered in patches of clover and bluebells. Shifting back into her human form, she steps out into the open.

"Elly!" She calls out.

There's no answer. She panics and wonders if she's too late or perhaps this has all been a cruel joke. A large black wolf runs up to her side and transforms into Gaspard.

"Where is she?" He asks.

"ELLY!" Samantha shouts even louder.

"Sam," a weak voice answers her, "Sam, I'm here."

Peering over a small, grassy knoll, Samantha sees a hand, waving so feebly that it's barely a twitch of the fingers. She rushes over and is stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh, shit, Elly," she gasps.

Her sister's short, brown hair is clumped together with soil and blood and her body is scattered with claw marks that drag across her legs, stomach and arms. Her shoulder has a deep, bite impression that oozes red fluid. Elly's features are hidden by dirt, covering all but her dark eyes that are overflowing with tears.

"Sam, you came," Elly cries, gritting her teeth in pain as her body shakes with each sob.

"Where's your phone?" Samantha asks, looking around her frantically.

She locates Elly's mobile and dials 999.

"Elly," Gaspard says, leaning over the injured girl, "Are there any others? Where's the rest of your pack?"

"I don't know," Elly weeps, "I don't know where they are; they chased them."

Gaspard looks around at the trees surrounding the clearing. The pack could have run in any direction. He runs to the edge and quickly searches the bushes and grass all the way around, looking for damage to the foliage to give him a clue to which direction they may have been driven.

"Hello, I need an ambulance and I need a team of paramedics," Samantha says, trying to keep herself together whilst she's on the phone, "I'm in the Chelmsford forest about half a mile in from North New Forest Road. My sister and her friends; they've been attacked by dogs."

Elly lets out another sob and Samantha kneels down beside her.

"Tell them to hurry," Elly pleads, "It hurts."

"I have my sister here with me; her name is Elly Hopkins. We're looking for her friends right now because they ran," Samantha tells the woman on the other end of the phone, "She's been bitten and scratched everywhere and her friends probably have been too. She's bleeding a lot. Please, get here as fast as you can."

Samantha hangs up the phone and puts her hand on Elly's cheek. For now, her mind has pushed aside all their history and out focus on helping her get through all of this.

"Sam!" Gaspard shouts from the other side of the clearing, "I've found them!"

"He's found them?" Elly repeats, "Are they ok? Are they alive?"

"Elly, I'm going to be right back," Samantha promises, "I just have to go with Gaspard and see who he's found. All you have to tell me is how many pack members you have."

"There are five including me," Elly whimpers.

Samantha nods and stands. Gaspard motions for her to come with him and she jumps the knoll and runs to meet him.

"It's not pretty," he tells her.

"Are they alive?" Samantha questions.

"One of them is gone and the other three are hanging on by a thread. Those paramedics better hurry or we'll lose all of them."

"Take me to them."

Gaspard grabs Samantha's arm and leads her through the trees. Only a few metres in, the grass has been stained with a dark red. Four bodies lay on the ground, three of them taking shallow and laboured breaths.

"They've got the same injuries as Elly," Gaspard says.

"This is insane," Samantha utters, "Who or what would do something like this?"

"I don't know," Gaspard shakes his head, "But whoever it was seems to have had it in for your sister."

XXXXXXXXXX

Half an hour passes until the paramedics reach the clearing. Gaspard had retraced his steps and collected both his and Samantha's clothes, barring Samantha's t-shirt which he replaced with his own shirt, then found his way to the roadside in order to wait for the ambulances and guide them back to where Elly and her pack mates were lying.

"Is she going to be ok?" Samantha asks one of the EMTs.

"We'll take care of her and her friends as best we can," the man tells her as he helps load the stretchers into the ambulance.

"But she'll make it, right?" Samantha quizzes him.

"Miss, please, let us do our jobs," the man replies as he steps inside the van and shuts the door.

The sirens begin to wail as the ambulances speed off, heading back to the hospital. Samantha drops to her knees.

"Sam, are you alright?" Gaspard exclaims, crouching down next to her and putting his arm around her shoulders.

"What the fuck just happened, Gaspard?" She utters.

"I wish I knew the answer to that, Mon chéri," Gaspard sighs.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here," she says, "I just came running to the aid of someone I despise and I'm asking if she's going to be ok. I shouldn't give a shit about that... That bitch and her gang of fucking sheep!"

"It's because you're nothing like her."

XXXXXXXXXX

Back at the house, Gaspard and Samantha find only Hannah, Alec, Rosie and Lance. Lance had sent everyone else home, knowing that the couple will appreciate fewer people being present.

"Guys, what's happened?" Rosie asks.

"Mate, is that yours?" Lance frowns, looking at Gaspard's blood-stained shirt.

Samantha walks past Rosie and takes a sits on the sofa. She runs her fingers through her hair and groans.

"My sister and her pack just effectively got wiped out," she tells them.

"You have a sister?" Hannah exclaims, "Since when did you have a sister?"

"Since always," Samantha snaps, "And she really isn't much of one."

"Sam, she doesn't know," Gaspard reminds his girlfriend.

"I'm sorry," Samantha sighs, "I just... I can't deal with this right now."

Samantha stands and makes her way upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

"It's best we leave the questions for another time," Gaspard says, "This is going to be a difficult one to explain and I think she needs some time to process everything."

"Yeah, no problem," Lance nods.

"Hannah, it's time for you to go to ground," Gaspard orders.

"I'll go to bed too," Rosie says.

Whilst the others say their goodnights, Gaspard ventures up the stairs to find Samantha. As he enters the bedroom, he hears the shower running. He strips off his dirty shirt and sighs loudly. He, himself, can barely register the events that have unfolded tonight, meaning that he can't possibly imagine what must be going through Samantha's head at the moment. He joins her in the bathroom and finds her standing perfectly still in the bath under the monsoon shower head, fully clothed, letting the water slowly wash away the soil and blood from her skin. Gaspard perches on the edge of the bath tub.

"I know you don't want to talk about it right now but you need to remember that..."

Gaspard stops and stares hard at Samantha, noticing that she's attempting to steady herself against the wall as she begins to sway. He swings his legs around and stands in the bath with her. As he reaches out to touch her shoulder, Samantha's legs give out underneath her. Gaspard catches her before she hits he bottom of the tub and holds up her dead weight.

"Rosie!" He yells.

Rosie, who has retired to her room, comes running through the bedroom and stops in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Oh my goodness, is she alright?" Rosie cries.

"I can't exactly figure anything out until I get her out," Gaspard replies, "But I'm worried I'm going to slip when I step out and I don't want to let go so I need you to take her legs for me."

Rosie rushes over to grab Samantha's ankles and help pull her up and over the edge of the bath tub. Once he's clear of the chance of falling, Gaspard picks up his girlfriend and takes her to the bed. Rosie lays a towel on top of the duvet and he carefully places her down.

"Do you think she passed out from shock?" Rosie asks.

"That's likely but I'm no expert," Gaspard says, moving Samantha's wet hair away from her face, "She didn't hit her head or anything so I don't think we need to call an ambulance. I'll wait until she comes to."

"Do you want me to wait with you?" Rosie offers.

"No, its ok," Gaspard replies, "Get some sleep."

Rosie nods and silently leaves the room. Gaspard massages his temples between his thumb and index finger. For months after he first found Samantha, she had cried most nights and when she finally opened up to him, he discovered the full extent of the pain and mental suffering that her one and only known family member had caused. He's thankful that she's wearing his shirt instead of her t-shirt because it would have been much harder to remove her wet clothes. After undressing her, he lays Samantha under the covers and tucks her in before retiring to the bed himself. He kisses her on the forehead before falling into a deep slumber.

XXXXXXXXXX

When the morning light filters in through the curtains, Samantha awakens and finds herself facing a sleeping Gaspard. She reaches out her hand and strokes the side of his face. His sky blue eyes gradually open.

"Hey," he whispers, "How are you feeling?"

"I think I'm ok," she whispers back, "But why am I on the wrong side of the bed?"

"When you passed out, I just put you on the closest side of the bed to me at the time and after that I didn't want to start dragging you around."

"I passed out?" Samantha questions.

"I think you were in a bit of shock," Gaspard says.

"I still am," Samantha sighs, resting her hand on the pillow, "Last night feels like a bad dream."

"It did look like something pulled out of a nightmare," Gaspard nods.

"I wish it were just a nightmare," Samantha admits, "But it wasn't and you know as well as I do that this isn't going to stop. I'm going to have to go and see her, Gaspard. I don't want to but we need to know what happened."

"Mon chéri, it's not going to be like last time," he promises, gently brushing his hand down her arm.

"I know; you're here this time."

"I won't let her hurt you again."

Samantha shuffles over and nuzzles into the crook of Gaspard's neck. He drapes his arm over her and closes his eyes only to be awakened ten seconds later by the loud sound of Muse blaring out from the pocket of his jeans. Slowly, he sits up, his messy hair hinders his vision.

"Please answer that. It's hurting my ears," Samantha groans.

Gaspard swings his legs around and pushes himself up off of the bed. Finding his jeans from the night before on the floor, he searches through the pockets. Coins fall out as he retrieves his phone and looks at the number on the screen; Doctor Coleman. He answers.

"Hugh, how can I help you," he says.

At the mention of the doctors name, Samantha sits bolt upright.

"It is about Elly?" She asks.

Gaspard puts his hand up to signal to her that he's trying to listen.

"Ok, thank you, I'll let her know," he nods.

Samantha watches as he ends the call and looks up at her.

"What did he say?"

"Your sisters awake. We can go and see her soon."

"Today," Samantha insists.

"Sam, it's a bit soon, don't you think?" Gaspard asks.

"No," Samantha disagrees, "I need to know."

Gaspard knows that there is no arguing with her. She is determined to get answers and he won't be able to stop her.

"Ok," he nods, "Let's get ready and we'll go."

XXXXXXXXXX

Samantha and Gaspard stand outside the room where Elly is being cared for. Samantha stares through the gaps in the slatted blinds.

"What on earth do you say to someone you haven't seen in nearly five years because they threw you out of your own home?" She asks.

"I honestly don't know, Mon chéri," Gaspard replies.

"A part of me doesn't want to be here and it's screaming at me to run away," Samantha tells him, "Yet, part of me is saying that I should stay and see what she has to say for herself."

"I don't think the reasons for why she did it have changed," Gaspard says.

"I know that," Samantha sighs, "But the least she owes me right now is a thank you and an explanation of why, of all the people in the world, did she contact me for help."

"Then that's what you say to her," Gaspard states.

Samantha grabs the door handle and takes a deep breath before slowly opening it. Elly looks up as Samantha steps in.

"Sam," she says, weakly, "I wondered when you were going to come and see me."

"What happened to you, Elly?" Samantha asks, walking up to the bed.

"After all this time, you don't even say hello first," Elly replies.

"Hi," Samantha says, bluntly, "What happened to you?"

Elly sighs. She doesn't know why she bothered mentioning Samantha's lack of enthusiasm upon speaking to her. She shouldn't expect any more than what she's getting.

"We were having a pack run. All five of us were just racing each other through the trees. Then we heard screaming and when we stopped and regrouped, there was only four of us," Elly tells her, "Grace had disappeared and we knew; we knew that those screams were hers. It sounded so awful. I've never heard anything like it before and it terrified me. By the time we found her again it was too late."

"I know she was in a bad state when the paramedics came and got you all," Samantha says.

"She was in bad state?" Elly cries, "She was mauled, Sam. Her arms and legs were nothing but shreds of flesh and her throat had been torn out. We could barely recognise her. Please, tell me how that's only a bad state?"

"That's all I was told," Samantha replies, "They didn't exactly give me a detailed description of the injuries. Can you remember anything else?"

"Not really. They came out of nowhere."

"Who did?"

"I don't know but there was more than one of them."

"How many did you see?"

"I'm not sure, maybe five or six; definitely one for each of us."

"Do you remember what they looked like? What were they; human, vampire, werewolf, shifter?"

"They were some sort of shifter. I couldn't say whether they were just wolf or not but I could see them in the shadows. When they took us down, it was in their human form. But they changed and that's when they started..."

"That's when they started attacking you."

"Yes. They clawed and bit and beat us until we couldn't fight back. I thought I was going to die. I don't know why they didn't finish us off in the same way they did with Grace."

"Maybe they thought you were hurt so bad that you wouldn't make it anyway."

Elly's face becomes one of panic. She is hit with the sudden realisation that she wasn't the only one still alive when help finally arrived.

"Did we all make it?" She questions, "Are the others still alive?"

Samantha shakes her head as tears well up in her sisters eyes.

"I'm afraid only Harriet is left. Callia died on the way to the hospital. Gabby lasted until the morning but her injuries were just too much for even a wolf to heal," Samantha replies.

"Oh no," Elly chokes, covering her face with her hands.

Samantha watches as her sister sobs. She doesn't know what to do; whether or not to comfort her or just continue standing there.

"Don't worry," Samantha says, "Harriet has been put in a drug induced coma for a while but they'll be bringing her out of it in a couple of days."

Elly doesn't answer but continues to cry. Samantha begins to feel awkward; still not knowing what to do. She decides to take the route of the door, leaving her sister alone in the room to grieve.

"How did it go?" Gaspard asks.

"I got some of what she remembers," Samantha sighs, "But when she found out about her pack members she shut down so I'm going to leave it for now."

"How do you feel now you've spoken to her?"

"I can't really pin-point an exact emotion right now. I don't think any of them are good though."

Gaspard puts his arm around Samantha's shoulder as they leave the hospital. He doesn't want to say too much to her. He knows it's still a painful subject for her to talk about and it will be even worse now that the person who caused and is still causing that pain has jumped back into her life with no warning. The truth is that he wants answers just as much as she does.


	2. Chapter 2

"We need a pack meeting," Gaspard states.

"Sounds like a plan," Lance agrees, "I'm guessing that means Sam's sister had a good amount of information to hand over."

"I won't lie to you, she didn't give us an awful lot to go by," Gaspard admits, "But it's better to inform everyone as we go along than keep everything a secret until we think we know enough. It might be too late by that time."

"True enough," Lance nods, "We don't know what these people are after."

"Exactly," Gaspard confirms, "They may just be after Elly and her pack for whatever reason but there's also a chance that it's not just them that they're targeting. I would rather play it safe."

"Whilst we're on the subject of Elly," Lance says, deviating from the main conversation, "How is Sam coping with the return of her estranged sibling?"

Gaspard pauses for a moment before answering. To anyone else, he would have lied and said that Sam is just a bit stressed but other than that, fine. But he can't lie to Lance, he's his best friend of seven years and never once have they betrayed each other's trust; not even with words.

"She's... Trying to deal with this as best she can," he sighs, "And I'm trying my best to help her but this has always been one of those thing I could never help her put behind her."

"We all have that one thing that we can't forget, no matter how hard we try. There's been a few of those for me; times where I've woken up next to a girl I really shouldn't have invited into my flat or even started talking to at the bar in the first place. I try to forget some of the faces but sometimes it's just impossible."

"Not quite the same thing."

"I'm messing about but don't try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You can't deny your man whore times, no matter how many years ago they were."

"I don't deny them; I just would rather not remember them. I hope you didn't come here to reminisce about past mistakes."

"No mate, I came here to see if you were all alright as well as get last night's story and a free cup of coffee."

"I'll tell you everything once we have the whole pack together. There's no point in me repeating myself," Gaspard says, "Plus, I want to see if Sam is up for visiting her sister again; just to see if we can get anything else out of her."

"Sooner or later, she's going to run out of questions about the attack and she'll start an attack of her own."

"That's why I'm going with her; though that might be a good idea."

"It is. Do you know what else would be a good idea?"

"What's that?"

Lance holds up his empty coffee mug and grins. Gaspard rolls his eyes and snatches it out of his hand.

XXXXXXXXXX

Gaspard walks out of the bathroom as he towel dries his hair, wearing nothing but his light blue boxers.

"Are you sure you want to go back?" He asks.

"For the hundredth time; yes," Samantha sighs.

The alpha studies his girlfriend's face as she quietly sorts through the sheets of paper laid out on the bed before her, every so often taking a pencil to one of them and writing her name. Ian still hasn't mastered the art of sending the primary work rota via email.

"Sorry," Gaspard says, "I'm just worried that you'll start to..."

"Revert back to my old self; crying every night because I can't handle being around her and the aura of spite she brings when I see her?" Samantha finishes his sentence, moving her eyes to him.

"That's not exactly how I would put it," Gaspard frowns, hanging his towel up on the back of the bathroom door.

"Gaspard," Samantha begins, "Not for a single second have I ever forgotten all the awful things she has said and done to me. But, it doesn't rule me anymore. I'm not the same girl I was four years ago. I know I said I was afraid and wished it was all some horrible nightmare but after seeing her for that first time the other day, I realise that, yes it's painful to even look at her, but it's not going to kill me. I'm so much stronger and you know that because you helped me."

Gaspard's mouth curves into a smile. Samantha takes her attention back to her work rota. He sits himself beside her and looks over her shoulder; she has jotted her name down in a majority of the boxes.

"I can come in with you," Gaspard suggests, "If you want me to."

"I would like that," Samantha smiles, leaning back to rest on him.

"I know that you still have a few hours to make up for, but you should probably give yourself some time to breathe."

"If I'm taking tomorrow off then I need to make that up as well. It makes sense to just put it all into one week so I can get it over and done with."

"Seems fair, but what if you need to go and see your sister again?"

"I'll cross that bridge if I come to it."

Gaspard knows that Samantha is purposely trying to fill her time in order to keep busy and stop her mind wandering into dark places, but he holds his tongue.

XXXXXXXXXX

The creak of the door opening draws Elly out of the depths of her own mind. She looks at her sister's cold and irked face as she enters the room. Samantha is followed by a man that looks vaguely familiar to her.

"You're the man that helped my pack," she says, "Thank you."

"I wouldn't thank me just yet," he says.

Elly looks at him; confused by what he means. This man is someone that Samantha must have confided in. He's clearly aware of the tension between herself and her older sibling. Samantha leans on the rails at the end of Elly's bed.

"We need more information on the people that attacked you," Samantha requests.

"I thought as much," Elly replies, "I didn't think that this was a social visit."

Samantha sighs inwardly and averts her eyes downwards. Gaspard watches her carefully, keeping an eye on the level of frustration showing on her face. He knows that he can't allow anything to get to her; if their communication breaks down, they'll get nothing out of Elly.

"Please, don't be difficult," Samantha frowns, looking back at Elly, "You said last time that there were at least five individuals that attacked you. Have you remembered the exact number or are you still unsure?"

"I'm still not sure. Did you know that the doctors said if those bastards had punctured Harriet's chest a few centimetres over to the left, they would have hit her heart instead of her lung?"

"No, I didn't. She's a lucky girl but that's not what we're talking about right now."

"There couldn't have been more than one attacking her. She has almost the same wounds as me, just in different places."

"Ok, that's two."

"In such little time it took for them to destroy Grace's body, I would say two or three were capable of doing that."

"Potentially four; it could have been the same two but we found the others in the same place we found Harriet."

"They were almost in a similar state to Grace. I asked the doctor."

"I make that more like six than five."

"Five, five hundred, five thousand; who cares? They're gone."

"Is there anything else? Did you see what they looked like?"

"Red; they were covered in red."

"That would have been blood."

"Yep; Grace's blood, my blood, Harriet's blood, Gabby's..."

"Elly," Samantha says, "Please, only focus on what they looked like, not what they did, because right now, you need to tell me who did it."

"I've told you before; they were shifters," Elly tells her, "I'm not sure what kind of shifter. They could have been werewolves, I don't know."

"And you can't remember anything else? Samantha asks.

"They were strong. Stronger than all of my pack put together," Elly says, "Not even you and that monster you hide would have stood a chance."

"You should watch what you're saying," Gaspard warns.

"Oh, come off it," Elly remarks, "You know what she is; you must do. Looking at the state of your face, I'm guessing you've had quite a close look."

Gaspard growls viciously, his eyes are set alight with anger and he steps towards Elly, bending down to level their heads. Her face loses some colour, his scars far more frightening up close.

"You should show a bit more respect to those above you," he snaps, "Especially since you just thanked me for helping save you."

Elly gives a sideways glance to Samantha.

"Oh, this is your alpha," she leers, looking back to Gaspard, "I'm an alpha too, you know."

"Not anymore," he states.

The smug look on Elly's face disappears. The words cut straight through her. He's right, she has no pack to command, no authority to go back to except one wolf; Harriet. As far as the structure of a werewolf community goes, she's a lone wolf. Her eyes drop as Gaspard returns to his full height.

"They were all white," Elly says, "At least, I think they were. That's what it looked like; flashes of white running across the field."

"That's everything?" Samantha questions.

"That's everything," Elly confirms, "If you don't mind, I'd like you to get out now."

"Fine by me," Samantha replies.

She wastes no time making her way out of the hospital room. Gaspard holds the door open for her.

"I don't want you seeing Harriet," Elly calls out, "If she knows something then I'll pass on a message but stay away from her!"

Gaspard wordlessly shuts the door behind him.

"She's got a fucking cheek," Samantha growls as they make their way down the corridor.

"She's upset," Gaspard says.

"No, she's Elly," Samantha corrects him, "If something doesn't go her way, or she doesn't like what's going on around her, she will always take it out on other people. She'll never take responsibility for anything. Granted, this even wasn't her fault, but with the way she was talking to us, in her head, she's aiming the blame at us."

"It's impossible to blame us for the attack," Gaspard frowns.

"No," Samantha shakes her head, "But her logic will tell her that we could have gotten there sooner, making it our fault that she lost those two other pack members."

"Wow," he breathes.

When they reach the doors of the hospital, Samantha stops and stands against the outside wall. She inhales deeply before letting the air out of her lungs in one loud exhale.

"It will be the thought process she used when she decided to kick me of her life," she recollects.

"Don't think about that," Gaspard requests, not wanting her to start dwelling on the past.

Samantha puts her arms around his waist. She sighs as she rests her head on his chest and becomes engulfed in his arms.

"Elly doesn't like you," she smiles.

"I'm not very fond of her either," he replies, "At least we got some more information about what we're dealing with," Gaspard sighs, "I think suffering some spite was worth it."

"Yep, now all we need to do it figure out what to do with the information we have," Samantha nods.

XXXXXXXXXX

The pack seats themselves comfortably on the sofa and armchairs. All of them are eager to hear what Gaspard has to say. None of them, except for Lance, knows more than the simple fact that Samantha's sister has reappeared and brought with her a whole heap of problems.

"Right, guys, hush your gums," Samantha calls over their chattering.

Gaspard raises an eyebrow at Samantha as she parks herself on the arm of the sofa, next to Lance, and grins at him.

"As we all know, there was an attack on Sam's sister's pack last week. We don't know who attacked them yet but we do have a vague description and the circumstances in which this all took place, "Gaspard explains, "At the moment, it looks like an unprovoked attack from out of the blue but everyone with a brain knows that there's a reason behind everything. However, until we find that reason, we're just going to have to make assumptions. From what Elly has told us, there were about six individuals present at the time, all of which were the same species; that being some type of shape shifter."

"To be honest, to do that kind of damage in such a short amount of time and to be able to work in a team like that, it has to be werewolves," Imogen says, "As honourable as our kind try to be, there's always going to be those who give us a bad name."

"A rogue pack, you mean?" Victoria asks.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Imogen nods.

"Ok, we'll refer to this group as 'the rogue pack' then," Gaspard continues, "Elly described them as being red and white; the red presumably being blood."

"Six, white werewolves running around Essex without being detected," Nathan frowns, "Even a pack that's crap at tracking would pick up that many scents happening at once so that's quite something."

"It is," Gaspard agrees, "I'm hoping the reason we haven't picked up on it is because they stuck to Elly's territory. Otherwise, I would be very concerned. Not much gets past anyone else's borders unnoticed."

"Except maybe Nicholas'," Imogen laughs.

"He has no borders," Samantha remarks, "He struts around London claiming it's all his."

"Twat," Lance states.

"I think we probably need to focus less on what Nicholas is or isn't doing and more on what's happened," Gaspard barks.

"We can't do much about it, mate," lance replies, "They've attacked and now they're gone."

"Actually," Ian starts, "We don't know that they're gone. Since this entire event happened, no one has been back to Elly's territory. They could have taken it over."

"Whilst I'd like to believe it would be that simple to find them, I think it's likely that they will still be in hiding," Gaspard says, "Word travels fast and a takeover like that would have turned more than a few heads. Many wolves would find it so barbaric that they would retaliate as one whole unit to get rid of them. I can't imagine they would go so far and risk so much just for some territory."

"If it's nothing to do with territory then it could be personal," Lance suggests, "Sam, does your sister have any enemies?"

"I don't know how you could assume I would know but I highly doubt it," Samantha responds bluntly.

"Sorry," Lance cringes.

Samantha pats Lance's shoulder gently. She's never told anyone but Gaspard the full story about what happened between her and Elly so she shouldn't expect them to be aware of quite how sensitive the subject is or how bad the separation was between them. She has to begin facing the facts; she's going to be questioned, poked and prodded for answers just as much as she is doing so to her sister.

"If it was personal to Elly only, then I think taking out the whole pack is a bit extreme," Nathan says, "Then again, even if it was against the whole pack, that's still taking it far."

"We have no choice but to assume it's an isolated event linked to Elly and her pack," Gaspard sighs.

"Unless something like this happens to another pack," Victoria adds.

"I seriously hope that it doesn't come to that," Gaspard replies.

"But if it does?" Victoria questions.

"If it does then we'll have to act very quickly to find and stop these wolves," Gaspard answers.

"Don't worry," Ian smiles, "We'll stop them in no time; just send Sam after them."

"Oi," Samantha exclaims, "I'm not a weapon to be used at everyone's disposal!"

"I know, sweetheart," Ian grins, "But you aren't half good at bringing down the bad guys."

Samantha rolls her eyes at the pub owner.

"I guess that settles it then," Gaspard states, "Keep your eyes and ears open, all of you. Anything weird happens, anything at all, let me know."

"Sir! Yes! Sir!" Imogen cries.

Gaspard smiles at his pack as they gather their belonging and pull their coats from the hooks. As Lance opens the door, he comes face to face with Rosie, who is accompanied another girl and three boys, two of which are holding hands and the other very familiar.

"Lance!" Rosie exclaims.

"Alright, kitty cat" Lance beams.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here," Rosie replies.

"We have the whole pack," he says, assuming that Rosie's friends won't understand the reference to werewolves.

"Wow, special occasion?" Rosie asks.

"That's one word for it," Lance sighs.

"Um, are we invading?" Rosie's friend, Felicia, queries.

"No, no, we're just leaving," Lance smiles, standing aside to allow them in.

Rosie and her friends enter the house, greeting the members of the pack as she passes by. When the others have eventually filed out, the shifter looks towards Samantha and Gaspard.

"Should I have called?" she asks.

"No," Gaspard shakes his head.

"Ok, cool," Rosie sighs with relief, she isn't in trouble, "You remember Felicia, Laurence and Joe don't you?"

The two wolves look at Rosie's friends. They were at the eighteenth birthday party they threw a couple of months ago.

"Yeah," Gaspard nods.

"No," Samantha shakes her head.

"You can't remember a lot from that night," Gaspard smirks.

Samantha scowls at him, not noticing the small smiles of the three friends forming upon memories of her drunken performance that night.

"Ok, well, we're going to go upstairs and leave you two to it," Rosie says before turning to her friends, "I'll be up in a minute."

"Don't take too long," Joe beams, "We have a lot of Vampire Diaries to get through."

Tyson gives Rosie a look of despair before following the group to her bedroom. Samantha purses her lips to stop herself from laughing; if only they knew.

"What in earth is going on?" Rosie asks, keeping her voice low, "Why was the pack here?"

"Nothing that you need to worry about," Gaspard replies.

"I'm not stupid and I'm fully aware that, unless it's a weekend barbecue, the pack only come over when there's something bad going on," Rosie frowns.

"Rosie, don't do this now," Gaspard warns.

"It's to do with Elly, isn't it?" Rosie questions.

"Leave it alone," Gaspard growls.

As scary as Samantha is when she's angry, Gaspard's temper can be equally as frightening when it surfaces. Rosie doesn't want to push it so she resorts to huffing and walking away.

"Gaspard, she's a teenager. It's her job to be persistent and annoying," Samantha states.

Gaspard puts his hand on his hip and holds the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.

"I know," Gaspard says.

"I'm aware that what the pack has said things to making it seems like there's some sort of inevitable danger looming over our heads but we still don't know if..."

"That's the problem. We don't know. And we won't until something else goes wrong."

"If something goes wrong; it's only if."

"We have to tell the other packs," Gaspard says, turning to look at Samantha, "We have to let them know just in case. I wouldn't be able to live with myself of one of them ends up like Elly knowing I could have warned them."

"Alright, we'll round up the pack masters and let them know," Samantha agrees.

Gaspard nods slowly and looks at the floor. Samantha steps up onto the sofa, bringing herself above his height, and puts her small, soft-skinned hand on his cheek. He closes his eyes and smiles as she strokes her thumb over the long scar that runs in a curve from the bridge of his nose round to his jaw.

"I'm stressed," Gaspard sighs, "I hate to admit it, but I am."

Gaspard steps closer to Samantha and puts his arms around her waist. She strokes his soft hair whilst he rests his head on her chest.

"It's ok," Samantha comforts him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Come on, slow coach!" Samantha calls from the bottom of the stairs, "I have night shifts for the rest of this week so this is your only chance!"

Rosie looks up from her laptop and stares at the werewolf.

"I don't know what you're planning to do but please do it out of my sight and earshot," she frowns.

"We're going for a run," Samantha beams.

"But you've forbidden everyone from running," Rosie replies, "You won't let me use the forest as a short cut to Tyson's house even if I'm a rabbit or a mouse."

"They will smell you, Rosie," Samantha says, "Besides, I said you could fly there, remember?"

"That still doesn't excuse you from your own rules," Rosie retorts.

"We're not breaking any rules, we aren't going for a wolf run," Samantha states.

She holds up a pair of black trainers with neon green reflective stripes on the sides. Samantha has owned them for years but they look brand new. Most of the running and exercise any werewolves do is in their wolf form, though some choose to go to the gym and lift weights to build more muscle; Gaspard being a prime example. But other than that, sports bras and Lycra three-quarter lengths are of no use.

"We're going for a run; human style," Gaspard says appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Wow, how'd she convince you to do that?" Rosie asks.

"Apparently it's going to help my stress levels because I'll be releasing some energy without feeling like I'm putting anyone in danger," he answers, "You're more than welcome to join us."

"I'll stick to Facebook thanks," Rosie smiles.

"Suit yourself, we'll see you in a couple of hours," Samantha says.

Rosie watches Gaspard as he reluctantly follows Samantha out of the doorway. He clearly doesn't agree that the most basic form of human exercise is going to lift his spirits. The shifter rolls her eyes and switches on the television.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing," she sighs, flicking through the channels, "Why are they paying for so many channels when there's nothing to watch?"

A loud thud and the clinking sound of a metal hitting the wooden floor makes Rosie jump. She twists on her seat and peers over the back of the sofa. A suitcase lies on the floor next to the trap door leading to the basement. Soon, red hair begins to peak out from the hole as Hannah surfaces from her cubby.

"What are you doing?" Rosie asks.

"Oh, hi Rosie," Hannah smiles, "Didn't see you there. I'm packing."

"I can see that," Rosie replies, "But why?"

"I have a house now," Hannah reminds her, "I inherited that mansion from Elizabeth and I think it's silly to just leave it empty so I'm moving out."

Rosie is speechless. She knew about the mansion but, for some reason, she could never see Hannah really moving out. For a while, she just stares as Hannah disappears back down into the basement to collect the last of her belongings. When she returns, Rosie is sitting on the arm of the armchair closest to the trap door.

"Won't you be lonely?" She questions.

"Alec is coming with me," Hannah states.

"What?" Rosie exclaims, "You're moving in together?"

"Yeah," Hannah nods.

"But you've barely been boyfriend and girlfriend for a few days! What if the relationship goes bad?"

"Then he'll have to move out."

"But... oh, I give up. I was going to say something about normal people and then I remembered that you're not normal, you're just Hannah."

"I don't really get what you mean by that but ok."

Rosie sighs and shakes her head as she watches Hannah carry her relatively light suitcase to the door. Though she has been living with them for two months, she still hasn't accumulated much in the way of possessions; mostly clothes and accessories handed down to her from Samantha and Rosie.

"Have you spoken to Sam and Gaspard about it?" Rosie asks.

"Not really," Hannah sighs, "Sam has enough on her plate and there hasn't really been an appropriate time."

"I suppose not," Rosie agrees, "Can't you stay just one more night?"

Hannah thinks for a moment. She isn't in a hurry to leave.

"We haven't had a girly night in a while," the young vampire smiles, "Plus, I still need to watch The Green Mile."

"Yes!" Rosie cries, "I'll get the DVD."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Oh crap," Samantha pants, "Gaspard! Wait for me!"

Gaspard brings himself to a halt and looks behind him. Samantha is bent over, breathing heavily from the exertion of running.

"This was your idea," he smirks.

"I'm well aware of that," she frowns, "I just didn't expect you to have quite this much stamina."

"Why?" he exclaims.

Samantha straightens herself up and flashes him a devious smile.

"Well, you are getting on a bit," she grins.

"That's it," Gaspard growls.

Samantha squeals and starts to run in the direction they entered the street. Gaspard races after her. Neither of them stops to think how strange or suspicious it will look if people see a man going after a girl half his size; too lost in the thrill of the chase.

"You'll never catch me!" Samantha calls out.

Suddenly, her feet come out from underneath her and she cries out in surprise as she falls to the floor, bashing her coxis on the hard pavement. She can hear Gaspard laughing behind her.

"I could have had two hundred and fifty pounds for that if I had my phone camera out," he chuckles.

"Shut up," Samantha huffs.

As she gets up, the dark liquid gets onto her hands. She looks at it under the dim light of the lamppost. It's the colour of red wine and gooey in consistency.

"What the hell is that?" Gaspard asks.

"I think it's...," Samantha pauses and brings her nose closer to her hand, sniffing the goo, "Gross! I have dead vampire on me!"

"I guess our run is over," Gaspard cringes.

"I disagree!" Samantha yells, "I'm fucking running home and getting this shit off of me!"

As the two wolves begin to jog back home, they are blissfully unaware that they're being watched. Glowing blue eyes stare at them from behind bushes on a steep hill.

"That's her?" A woman's voice asks, her voice overladen with a thick German accent.

"Ja," a man replies, his low, rumbling voice also heavily intoned, "Isn't she lovely?"

"Average," the woman responds.

"Nein, my sweet," the man says, "Looks can be deceiving. She is the future of our kind."

"Not yet," the woman corrects him, "We still have a few problems to deal with, don't we?"

"That won't take long," the man smirks.

XXXXXXXXXX

Back at the house, Hannah and Rosie are surrounded by tissues.

"I can't believe they let him get electrocuted after all that," Hannah cries, wiping more blood tears from her eyes.

"I know," Rosie agrees, dabbing her own face, "It's so sad."

A knock on the door brings their weeping to a stop. Samantha and Gaspard hadn't taken their house keys with them so Rosie doesn't hesitate to answer. As the door opens, she is shocked to find that Samantha is covered in clotted blood.

"Would you mind grabbing a towel, please?" Gaspard says.

"Um, ok," Rosie says slowly, trying to process the situation in front of her.

Hannah peaks her head around and gasps.

"Oh my goodness, Sam, did you hurt yourself?" She exclaims.

"No," Samantha shakes her head, "But I can't say the same for the vampire that I landed in."

"That's vampire blood?" Rosie asks, rushing back from the kitchen with a tea towel.

"Some of it is," Gaspard explains, "The rest, I believe, is just squishy body parts."

"Did you kill a vampire?" Hannah cries.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hannah," Samantha scowls, "Of course we didn't kill a vampire."

"Phew!" Hannah sighs with relief, "I panicked for a moment. I thought I was going to have to explain that to the Queen."

"You might want to anyway," Gaspard suggests, "I can't say finding a dead vampire in your domain isn't something to be concerned with."

"A lot of people hate vampires," Rosie says, "I wouldn't be surprised if it died because someone was using self-defence."

"Well, it was down a quiet street," Gaspard ponders, "Seemed like a good place to take a victim but if they were intentionally cornering someone, surely that person would have been glamoured."

"Hannah still doesn't know how to glamour," Rosie points out, "Maybe it's a new vampire?"

"I don't actually care who it was or under what circumstances they died," Samantha frowns, "I just want his or her gunk off of me."

She hands the towel to Gaspard and makes a beeline for the stairs. Within minutes, she's disappeared into the main bathroom, not wanting to risk getting any blood in the bedroom by walking through, and the sound of the shower comes over the momentary silence. Gaspard notices the suitcase on the floor.

"What's that about?" He asks.

"Hannah's leaving," Rosie states.

"Oh, that sucks," Gaspard sighs, shutting the front door behind him, "I suppose you need to occupy that mansion at some point though."

"Yeah, I thought it might be better if I go now and start my new career in a place that's easier to work in," Hannah replies, "I don't think having vampires in and out of the door is a good idea while I'm still here. You've said before that you like living here because it's difficult to find."

"Yeah," he nods in agreement, "Still sucks though. When are you planning on going?"

"I was going to leave tonight but Rosie convinced me to stay one more night so I could say goodbye properly."

"I said that Sam would be pissed if she left without you knowing," Rosie adds.

"You're not wrong, she gets pissed off at most things," Gaspard smiles.

Upstairs, Samantha scrubs herself furiously. She isn't a squeamish person but this was disgusting beyond words. Though not long ago she had crushed a vampires head in her jaws, Samantha was never awake to feel or see any of the blood and guts on her, but right now she's very aware of it.

"Yuck, yuck, yuck," she curses to herself.

She hears the door handle being pulled down.

"If you need to go to the loo, use the en suite," Samantha calls, "I don't want to listen to you having a wee, I've had enough of bodily fluids for today thank you very much."

"I'm not in here to use the toilet," Gaspard says, opening the sliding glass door of the shower and stepping in.

"Can you check I got all everything off of me?" Samantha pleads.

"Yeah, there's absolutely nothing on you," Gaspard smirks, "Just the way I like it."

Samantha rolls her eyes and continues to rub soap onto her skin. Still paranoid those tiny molecules of blood may still be on her skin. She feels large, rough hands run up her back and she smiles.

"Do you feel better now?" Samantha asks.

"It wasn't as good as running through the forest but it will do for now," Gaspard replies, bringing his hands to rest on Samantha's shoulders.

"See? I was right, as always," she grins.

"No comment," Gaspard smiles.

He bends his neck to put his head in line with the spray from the shower head. The water splashes down onto Samantha's face and she grumbles in disdain.


	4. Chapter 4

Gaspard scrolls through the contact list on his phone, finding the numbers of every pack master in the Essex area and calling each of them to arrange a meeting. They all agree that the coming night would be the best option, as it is the soonest time possible for all of them. The last one on the list of people to get in touch with is someone that Gaspard would rather not have to speak to, let alone invite into his house. He sighs and decides that if he's going to ring all of them it would definitely have to involve him. He gained Nicholas' number from Imogen year ago after she received a napkin with the digits scrawled across it. Needless to say, she never called, but kept the number. Gaspard presses the dial button and holds his phone to his ear. Just as he does this, Samantha walks into the kitchen.

"Who are you calling?" she asks.

Gaspard hesitates; he shouldn't lie. But even if he was planning to deceive his girlfriend, it wouldn't have worked. The guilt on his face had shown all too clearly what he was doing.

"I have to," he says.

"Hello, this is Nicholas Langford," a familiar voice speaks on the other end of the phone, "I cannot take your call right now but please leave a message and I shall get back to you as soon as possible."

"Don't you dare," Samantha hisses under her breath.

Gaspard holds up his hand to hush her.

"Nicholas, it's Gaspard," he begins, "I'm holding a meeting with the pack masters to discuss some fairly urgent matters and it requires you to be there. If you get back to me then I can…"

The phone is suddenly snatched out of his hand.

"No!" Samantha shouts, cutting off the call.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Gaspard exclaims.

"I'm not going to have it, he's not coming," Samantha states.

"All the pack masters need to be here and, like it or not, he is a pack master. This is important and we can't let personal grudges get in the way," Gaspard frowns.

"Like fuck am I putting aside the way I feel and allowing that arsehole into our home."

"He needs to know.".

"Then you can tell him another time. There are a lot of ways you can communicate with people nowadays and many of them involve no visual or physical contact."

"Look, I know you hate him but..."

"No! No 'but'. He has driven me to violence numerous times, insulted the way you run this pack and sent a man to our house that almost killed Hannah; or did you forget that?"

"We still have no proof that was his doing."

"Of course it was his doing. You know that just as well as I do and I won't have it. He's not coming. Warn him by all means but he won't be a part of this meeting."

Gaspard knows that there's no arguing with her.

"Fine," he agrees, "No Nicholas."

"Thank you," Samantha breathes a sigh relief.

XXXXXXXXXX

In the evening, the pack masters of Essex arrive at the house one by one. There are three pack masters in total, not including Nicholas and Gaspard. They greet each of them and seat them around the coffee table in the lounge. Marc, a burly, strawberry-blonde haired man occupies a territory that neighbours Gaspard's. Jake and Graham both own territories that are slightly further out from the others, Jake being at the edge of Greater London whilst the Graham resides nearer the coast. Jake could be mistaken for a contestant of the World's Strongest Man; his muscles make him look like an impenetrable wall but unmistakable as an alpha to be reckoned with. Out of all of them, Graham looks the most out of place. With his long, black hair and smaller frame, he doesn't look like much of a match for anyone, but Samantha knows not to judge people by their looks.

"So, what's this about then, Gaspard?" Marc says.

"We have a problem concerning a pack of wolves that don't seem to want to make friends so much as they want to make enemies," Gaspard explains, "There's been an attack on a neighbouring territory and its left three dead and two in intensive care."

"So you've brought us here to question our whereabouts at the time?" Jake frowns, crossing his bulky arms across his chest.

"Not at all," Gaspard shakes his head, "I've brought you here to ask if any of you have had any strange activity occurring either within or in the surrounding areas of your territories."

"No," Marc answers.

"No," Graham echoes.

"Me either," Jake adds.

"What about seeing anyone new?" Samantha asks, "A group of people that you've never come across before?"

"If this pack knows that there were survivors of their attack, they won't be in a group," Marc points out, "They'll send scouts but there's no hope of identifying a whole group at once. But once again, the answer is no."

"What pack was attacked?" Jake asks, moving curious grey eyes to focus on Samantha.

Gaspard glances at his girlfriend.

"My sister's," she says.

All three of the alphas give Samantha a look of confusion. Though not all of the separate packs are a tight-knit community, only containing a few solid friendships here and there, they are all aware of what pack an individual belongs to and what their relations are for, if nothing else, the convenience of knowing. Never has anyone, other than a few select people, been told about Samantha's estranged sibling. None of Elly's pack has ever ventured into the world of pack association, therefore never appeared in Loup-Garou. Suddenly, they hear a gasp behind them. Every wolf in the room turns their head to find Hannah standing at the edge of her trap door, holding a suitcase.

"How's it going?" Hannah laughs nervously.

"Hannah," Samantha frowns, "What are you doing?"

"Well, I meant to tell you about this but there wasn't really a good opportunity to bring it up," the young vampire pauses and takes a deep breath, "I'm moving out."

Samantha's mouth drops open slightly.

"Um, maybe this isn't exactly the right time to discuss living arrangements," Gaspard says, "We have something else to discuss. In fact, Hannah, you might want to stick around, some of this is relevant to you."

"Oh, ok," Hannah nods.

She drops her luggage in the middle of the floor, ignoring Samantha's look of disapproval at the trip hazard, and walks around to join the pack masters.

"Everyone, this is Hannah. Hannah, this is Graham, Jake and Marc. Graham and Marc have both found a number of dead vampires in their territory," Gaspard informs her.

"Grand total of three," Marc adds.

"Four in mine," Graham says.

Hannah's expression turns into one of panic and fear.

"Oh no," she groans, holding the sides of her head, "Why does everything have to go bad as soon as I'm put in charge?"

"It's not your fault," Gaspard comforts her, "But this is definitely something that you need to take notice of, before the other vampires do."

"Can we get back to the important stuff, please?" Jake asks.

"Oh my goodness, you're so mean!" Hannah exclaims, "This is very important!"

"I think she's right," Marc agrees, "If both werewolves and vampires have been attacked, it could be the same people."

Hannah smiles smugly, enjoying the support.

"I've gotten as much as I can out of my sister so far," Samantha says, "I haven't spoken to her last remaining pack member but she won't let me near her."

"Why?" Graham frowns, "Surely she knows how important this is."

"Let's just say they don't exactly see eye to eye," Gaspard says, jumping in to save Samantha.

"Maybe you should start making an effort to rectify that," Jake retorts.

"Maybe you should shut your mouth," Samantha growls.

Jake responds to her comment with a menacing snarl.

"Knock it off," Marc barks.

Gaspard sighs. No matter how willing the alphas are to join forces and help the situation, he should have expected them to be abrasive towards each other, naturally fighting for dominance even outside of their respective territories; a pointless warning to one another.

"Are you quite done?" Graham huffs.

Samantha and Jake continue to glare at each other for a moment before breaking eye contact and returning to the main objective. But before they can carry on, there's a knock at the door. Samantha looks at Gaspard.

"That better not be who I think it is," she warns him.

Luckily, she doesn't open the door to Nicholas, but instead, Alec.

"What do you want?" She asks.

"Well, originally my plan was to come and collect Hannah as she hadn't yet appeared at the mansion," he explains, "But now I come bearing very disturbing information."

"Just what we needed; more good news," Samantha breathes, "Fuck it, let's make this a party, and come in."

She stands aside to allow Alec to enter. He finds himself being stared at by several powerful looking werewolves. None of which he has come across before.

"Good evening," he greets them.

"Alec!" Hannah cries, "I'm so sorry, I completely lost track of time. They've been telling me awful stuff."

"Would it, by any chance, have something to do with several deceased vampires?" He questions.

"How did you know?" Hannah asks.

"I came across a group of our kind that had been murdered," he says before turning to look at the wolves, "They had the distinct smell of werewolf on them."

"Are you implying something, fanger?" Jake growls.

"It's more of a statement," Alec replies, "They smelled of werewolf. I wasn't pointing fingers."

"Were they fresh?" Samantha asks.

"No," Alec shakes his head, "At least two nights and…."

"How do you know that your sister didn't just piss off the wrong people?" Jake interrupts.

Everyone in the room, except Gaspard who averts his eyes to the floor, stares at Samantha. She knows her sister wouldn't get involved with the kind of people that would commit these kinds of atrocities, that's not how she was brought up. Then again, within all the time she hasn't seen Elly, perhaps she really has changed that much and went looking for trouble. She obviously felt empowered having a pack, which had been made very clear a long time ago, so it's possible she got cocky. Challenging the wrong person can get you hurt or even killed, but it generally doesn't get the rest of your pack torn apart.

"I don't," Samantha utters.

"Well, there we go," Jake laughs, before turning to Gaspard, "You brought us here to let us know that her sister got on the wrong side of someone with a taste for extreme violence. This isn't our problem."

"Not right now it isn't but what if they decide to carry on? What if they've got a taste for destruction now? If they can overpower one pack and take down a few vampires, who for all we know could have been a hundred years old or more, what's to stop them from attempting to widen their territory even further?," Samantha stresses.

"Don't be an idiot," Jake snarls, "Come to me when you have some hard evidence, got it?"

The others sit in silence, unsure what to say. Both Samantha and Jake have valid points.

"Fine, you have it your way," Gaspard sighs, "I just thought it best to let you all know."

"Fab, now we know, can we go?" Jake says, standing to leave.

The other alphas follow his lead and lift themselves up from the sofa. Jake pushes past Alec and lets himself out.

"Thank you, Gaspard," Graham says.

As Graham disappears out of the door, Marc stays behind.

"He tries to outdo everyone," he sighs, "But for the record, I fully take on board what you're saying. I'll keep an eye out and give you a shout as soon as something comes up."

"I appreciate that," Gaspard smiles.

"Oh, and Hannah," Marc says, turning to the young vampire, "I'll pass on anything vampire-related too."

"Thank you, I could do with some extra eyes," Hannah nods.

"See you then," Marc says, giving a slightly one-sided smile, the left side hindered by a straight scar down his cheek.

The door closes behind the last alpha. Everyone waits for a moment before speaking,

"I can't even express how happy I am now that's over," Samantha groans, "We got nowhere."

"That's not true," Gaspard says, "We've warned them. That's the most we can do for now."

"Hopefully they'll listen," she says.

They hear Hannah clearing her throat. They had momentarily forgotten that she and Alec were still in the room.

"I, um, I should probably get a move on if I want to make any progress with the mansion," she says, looking anywhere but into the eyes of Samantha and Gaspard.

"I can't believe you were going to leave without saying anything," Samantha says.

"I would have eventually," Hannah replies, "I just didn't want to upset you. You have a lot to be upset about already."

"Of course we're upset," Samantha states, "But if it's what you really want then we're happy for you."

"Thank you," Hannah smiles, "That means a lot."

"We'll miss you though," Gaspard adds.

At vampire speed, Hannah rushes over to the two werewolves and pulls them together in a tight hug.

"Hannah, you're strangling me," Samantha wheezes.

"I'll miss you too!" Hannah exclaims, ignoring Samantha's plea for air, "And you can come and visit me whenever you want... except in the daytime because that would be pointless."

"Hannah!" Samantha shouts.

The young vampire jumps back.

"Sorry!" She exclaims, "Still don't know my own strength."

"We noticed," Gaspard laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'll take great care of her," Alec smiles.

"You wouldn't dare to anything but," Samantha smirks.

XXXXXXXXXX

After an extended goodbye from Hannah and several more bone crushing hugs, the two vampires have finally left the house.

"I think I might need some physiotherapy after that," Samantha cringes, leaning back and stretching her arms.

"Now we're back to having a room under the house that has no use," Gaspard says.

"At least we'll have a lower electricity bill. She left so many lights on that you'd think she's afraid of the dark."

"It wouldn't surprise me. She's already the most bizarre vampire we know."

"I wonder how she's going to handle being on her own."

"We can gauge it by how often she calls."

"Then again, she has the walking, talking Encyclopedia of 'How to Be a Vampire' with her."

"Why don't you like him? He's proven himself to be a friend or at least an acquaintance to us."

"I just don't gel with him. He's too posh."

Gaspard smiles and shakes his head. He knows Samantha doesn't really mind him, she's just stubborn. He watches her straighten out all of the cushions where the others had been sitting and then throw herself down onto the sofa. He joins her, promptly dropping his weight down next to her and making the chair bounce.

"Oi, you'll break the chair!" Samantha exclaims.

"Hush," Gaspard says, playfully bumping her with his shoulder.

Samantha shoves the side of his head with her hand. This means trouble. Even in a play fight Gaspard doesn't let anyone have the last word, or in this case the last strike. He looks at her in the corner of his eye, sky blue fixates on her. He raises and eye brow and smirks before launching himself at her, grasping her sides with his fingers and tickling her. She screams with laughter.

"Stop it!" She squeals, kicking out and trying to squirm away.

Eventually he releases her from his torturous grasp. A low chuckle emits from behind his closed lips, knowing he's won. He kisses the space between her eyes and is hit with an intoxicating scent.

"Wow," Gaspard says.

"What?" Samantha questions.

"You smell amazing." 

"Ok, if you say so."

"I do say so. It's...," he pauses, bringing his face close to her neck, "It's sexy."

He inhales deeply. The aroma reminds him of the damp woods after freshly fallen rain mixed with her usual enticing scent, except it's been magnified. He begins to feel hot under the collar of his T-shirt. He's overcome with an intense need for her, like a sudden craving that demands to be fulfilled immediately. Gaspard snakes his arm underneath Samantha's body pulls her closer, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

"What on earth has gotten into you?" Samantha says, biting her lip when she feels tender kisses being placed on her shoulder.

Gaspard bites into her skin, dragging his teeth across her neck and making her cry out. Taking advantage of her open mouth, he kisses her. This kiss isn't tender; it's more forceful, almost desperate. Samantha isn't quite sure what's spurring Gaspard on so much, but she's certainly not going to complain. A growl rumbles in the back of his throat as her hands move under his t-shirt. This is going to be fun.


	5. Chapter 5

"You are disgraceful!" Rosie yells, rushing into the upstairs hallway from her bedroom and pointing an accusing finger at Samantha.

Samantha stands in the front doorway, ready to leave for her day shift at work, and looks at her with wide-eyed confusion.

"I'm... What? Why?" She asks.

"It's one thing hearing you and Gaspard in the next room doing goodness knows what but I really don't need to come in to see you both on the sofa with all your bits on show!" Rosie cries, "I'm scarred for life!"

Memories of last night come back to Samantha and she grins.

"Sorry," she says.

"No you're not," Rosie retorts, "I am going to Febreze the shit out of that sofa after I bleach it."

Samantha purses her lips, trying not to laugh out loud. She shouldn't find it funny; she wouldn't have wanted to be in Rosie's shoes and seen that.

"At least you actually know it happened," Samantha smiles, "Think of how many times we haven't told you."

Rosie's face is a picture depicting every type of horror in the world and it was hilarious. In truth, it was rare that anything beyond kissing ever happened on the sofa. Before she can receive any more abuse, Samantha slips out of the door and jumps into the car, giggling to herself. At least the sofa will be clean.

XXXXXXXXXX

After lunch break at a pub, work always seems to go so much slower. Mostly because there's not much left to do to keep yourself busy. All the washing up has been done, the glasses have been stacked up and the lunchtime customers have slowly filtered out. Samantha is waiting for her shift to end. She's glad it's not a night shift. Though the time flies from being shouted at from every angle with drinks orders, there's a football match on tonight and she's not prepared to deal with the level of rowdiness and ridiculous behaviour that is ensured with the hype of the game. Besides, she's more of a rugby fan, making it even less enjoyable.

"You've gone over the bar with that cloth a dozen times," Ian says, "You're going to end up wearing down the surface at this rate. Find something else to do."

"There's nothing. I've mopped, washed up, cleaned the empty tables, straightened the chairs and put the spirits in alphabetical order," Samantha frowns, "What else can I do?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this but how about working slower? I like efficiency as much as the next person but it's a little bit unbearable watching you."

"Don't watch then, pervert."

Ian rolls his eyes. He has tried his best not to show it but Samantha can tell that he's been dying to question her all day. Everything about Samantha's past has been foggy to all but a few. Gaspard and Imogen knew the most out of all of them. She spent many nights confiding in Imogen when they were living together. But apart from deceased parents, the others know nothing, especially not about any existing family members.

"How about helping in the kitchen?" He suggests.

"No one likes it when I'm in there," Samantha replies, "I take over."

Ian rolls his eyes.

"Just go home," he says.

"No, I can't," she replies, "I'll go crazy at home. Gaspard won't be home until late and Rosie is busy running around somewhere with her new friend or boyfriend or whatever he is."

"Alright," Ian says, holding his hands up in surrender to her claim, "Why can't you just take up smoking like Jade? Then half your day will be spent out the back."

"And half my life would be slipping away," Samantha remarks.

"You're such a drama queen."

Samantha laughs and throws the wet cloth at Ian, aiming for his head. Ian dodges it but as it flies past his face, it hits the shelf of clean glasses and knocks two down, sending pieces of glass across the floor.

"Shit," she sighs.

"Now you have something to do," Ian smiles, pointing to the shattered mess.

Samantha groans; this wasn't what she had in mind, but it's better than nothing. As she sweeps the glass into a dustpan, her mind wanders to the subject of Hannah moving out. She still hasn't told her about what she discovered at her funeral and she really doesn't want to. Handing over sensitive information like that is bad enough but without anything to go on apart from something supernatural happened to her true parents, she's practically giving Hannah mental torture. She can't keep it from her forever, but maybe she can do some research first, maybe that wonderful World Wide Web can help her.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Hannah Tamplin," Samantha says, speaking as she types the young vampires name into Google.

As she suspected, every Hannah Tamplin in existence shows up on the search except the one she's looking for. Hannah's overprotective parents have made it unbelievably difficult to find anything; no Facebook, no Twitter, no Tumblr, not a thing. She frowns and deletes her search, trying to think of what will help.

"What are you doing on my laptop?" Rosie says.

Samantha turns to face her. The young shifter is standing behind her, arms folded and scowling.

"Watching porn," Samantha answers bluntly.

"You're so funny," Rosie replies, laughing sarcastically.

"I was just looking something up. You can have it back; I don't really know what I'm looking for anyway."

Samantha places Rosie's laptop down on the coffee table and lifts herself off of the sofa. Rosie quickly looks into her history and finds the searches that Samantha has carried out. All of them are to do with Hannah. She frowns in confusion, wondering why Samantha would take such a sudden interest in her existence. For now, Rosie puts the thought to the back of her mind; she still has summer assignments to do. She stares at her half-finished biology paper and groans. She doubts the true need for 2000 words on comparative biological systems. The sound of Samantha's mobile buzzing and blaring out Katy Perry distracts Rosie before she's even started. Looking down at the screen, Rosie can see the name of the caller.

"Sam, it's the hospital," she calls out.

Samantha casually strolls back into the living room from the kitchen and grabs the phone before is vibrates itself off of the table.

"Hello," she chimes, "Doctor Coleman, yes, I'm fine thanks."

"Is it about Elly," Rosie asks.

Samantha holds out her my index finger towards Rosie, signalling her to be quiet.

"Ok, I understand," Samantha nods in reply to what doctor Coleman is telling her, "I'll be there in a few hours. Thanks. Bye."

As soon as she hangs up, Rosie verbally pounces on her.

"Was that about Elly? Is she ok? Have they let her out of hospital yet or is she asking for you?"

"Whoa!" Samantha cries, holding her hands up, "Calm down, it's nothing major. Doctor Coleman said that he's happy to discharge Elly within the next few days is all."

"Are you going to see her?"

"Well, yes. I have to. I can't let her go home, it's not safe."

"Are you going to let her stay with us?"

"Fuck no. I'm sending her to a hotel."

"How do you know she'll be safe there?"

"I don't. I don't know if anywhere will be safe for her. Stop asking questions, please."

"But surely if..."

"Rosie, what did I just say?"

"Yes, I know, but..."

"Rosie!"

"You're so moody," Rosie says.

"No I'm not," Samantha argues, "You're nosey."

"I'm curious."

"That's the same thing."

"No it's not. Nosey is when you peek through the window at your neighbours to see who their new boyfriend is."

"You would probably do that if we had any neighbours."

"Shut up."

Samantha smiles triumphantly. Rosie should know that it's a rare thing to outwit her in a debate or win any argument against her.

"If you want, whilst Gaspard and I go to see Elly, you can visit Hannah," Samantha suggests, "We can drop you off on the way to the hospital. You can bring Tyson as well."

"Sounds like a plan," Rosie nods, thankful for an excuse not to do her work.

XXXXXXXXXX

At the hospital, Samantha and Gaspard find themselves in the least hostile situation that's occurred with Elly so far. There are no glaring or nasty comments, just relative silence broken only by the sound of nurses gossiping outside and giving Gaspard a funny look.

"Doctor Coleman said you're fine to leave in a couple of days," Samantha says, "You can't go back to the house, just in case, so maybe get a hotel room or some other sort of accommodation."

"Yeah, ok," Elly nods.

"Do you have any money?" Samantha asks.

"Not with me," Elly replies, "Everything is at the house."

Samantha had forgotten that Elly would still be living in the family house. The house they both used to live in, with and without their parents. She can't let her go back there, not after this attack.

"Give me the keys," Samantha requests.

"I don't have them," Elly says.

"Where are they?"

"They're buried in the flower pot, like always."

Like always; like their parents always did when they weren't going to be home when they came back from school. Like Samantha had done when she was going out and wouldn't be home before her sister. Elly pauses and looks at her sisters face. She realises that each word about the house and how much it hasn't changed, even without her, is like sticking pins into her heart.

"My purse is in the second drawer of my dresser," Elly utters.

"Ok, I'll go and get the stuff tomorrow and come back with it," Samantha replies.

Elly nods and suddenly becomes worried about Samantha and how she'll react to the mostly unchanged house. As Samantha turns away to leave, something comes to Elly.

"Sam," she calls, "I left your room as it was; all your things are still in there."

Samantha gives her sister a blank look, unsure of whether to answer, but decides to continue her path to the exit.

"I'll make sure to remind her before she leaves," Gaspard assures.

"Gaspard, please go with her," Elly begs, "That place isn't good for her. I don't think she'll be able to deal with it."

"You're not good for her," Gaspard responds, "Yet she's dealing with you just fine."

Elly doesn't reply, feeling hurt that her first act of concern since the attack has been thrown back at her face. Inside, she already knew that he has plans to accompany Samantha, but wanted to show that she cares what the visit home might do in regard to her mental stability. Then again, it's clear that Gaspard is willing to pick up every piece of her if she were to fall apart; just as Samantha had done every time Elly had broken down when their parents died. Elly covers her face with the thin hospital blanket on her bed and cries, consumed by guilt.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Oh my goodness, this is amazing!" Rosie exclaims, walking through the front door of Hannah's mansion.

A high ceiling towers above Rosie and Tyson, supporting a beautiful crystal chandelier that reflects the lights, fracturing them and making them look like stars scattered across the shining patterned cream and white tiles on the floor. A giant staircase leads up to the second floor, enclosed in twisted metal banisters. The walls don well maintained tapestries from what could be hundreds of years ago. The only thing that seems out of place in to immaculate foyer is the pile of portrait paintings on the floor next to an over-sized stained glass vase. A blur of colour comes rushing in through a tall archway to their right and stops in front of them.

"You came to visit me!" Hannah cries, throwing her hands in the air in joy.

"We couldn't pass up the opportunity to come and see what your nutty grandmother left behind for you," Rosie grins.

"She may have been nutty but the woman had style," Tyson says, still looking around.

"You should see the bedroom," Hannah laughs, "I've never seen so much lace in my life."

"Not to mention the candles," a voice behind them says.

The two shifters turn to see Alec standing over them, his tall frame shielding them from the lights.

"What is it with girls and candles?" Tyson ponders.

"So I take it that the settling in is going well," Rosie says.

"Yep," Hannah nods and smiles, "I'm getting some of my staff to take some stuff down to charity shops and museums. I'm pretty sure there are a few famous paintings in here."

"You have staff?" Tyson gasps.

"We're retaining previously employed people," Alec explains, "They still need paying jobs and Hannah has the money. We didn't see a point in firing them all. I think they're more than happy to continue here knowing that the likelihood of being eaten by their employer has greatly lessened."

"We got rid of her personal food supply in the dungeon though," Hannah adds.

"The... What? A dungeon," Rosie exclaims, her face a picture of disbelief.

"I crapped my pants when I found it," Hannah replies, "Skinny humans with puncture marks all over their bodies."

Hannah shudders internally when the image of those poor people comes back to her. Their ribcages were prominent through their dry, dehydrated skin and their sorrowful faces had been so afraid at first. She had also found something else, or rather smelt something else. She wouldn't mention it any of them but the strong smell of Gaspard's blood told her that this was where Elizabeth had kept him after abducting him.

"Sam's sister is going to be let out of hospital soon," Rosie tells them, "I'm not sure what that's going to do to Sam so if I turn up at your door, you know why."

"Well, my door is open and you can come and stay whenever you want for however long you want," Hannah says, "I have plenty of bedrooms and all of them are light tight; not that that would make much of a difference to you. You can come and stay too, Tyson."

"Awesome, at least I know where to come if Sam goes bat shit crazy," Rosie laughs.

"Actually, Sam could come here," Alec suggests, "It would make good use of the dungeon."

The quartet chuckle, knowing that there's some truth in his comment.

"So, would you like a tour of the house?" Hannah beams.

"Do you even have to ask? Of course we do!" Rosie grins, eager to see how an eight hundred year old vampire lived.

"Follow me," Alec instructs, holding out his arm in a gesture towards the living room.


	6. Chapter 6

The car pulls into the drive of a house on the end of a quiet street near the furthest reaches of Chelmsford, close to fields that lead to the South of the forest.

"Do you want to sit here for a moment?" Gaspard asks.

"No, I'm fine," Samantha insists.

A cool breeze blows gently through her hair when she opens the car door. Her eyes are met with a varnished wooden door with two frosted windows. Reddish brown bricks create the two storey structure and the windows that look into the house are shielded by slatted blinds. Samantha walks to the door and digs her hand into the soil of some potted pansies that are in dire need of watering. She produces a key ring with two keys attached to it; one for the front door and one for the back door.

"You don't have to do this," Gaspard reminds her.

Samantha stays quiet, looking from the key to the lock and willing her hand to move. Slowly, she inserts the key into the hole and turns until she hears a click. She warily takes a hold of the door handle and pulls it down, letting herself into an old part of her life. The first thing that Samantha comes into contact with is a tatty doormat that looks remarkably similar to the one she had sworn to throw away all those years ago. In the carpeted hallway there's nothing but a few pairs of shoes on the floor and some jackets hung up on a hook that threatens to fall off of the wall. The peach walls are bare and look in need of a fresh coat of paint. Samantha walks further in with Gaspard stepping into the house behind her and closing the door. Samantha breathes steadily, keeping check of her reactions. She turns to her right and moves through a large archway into an open plan dining and sitting room. A large oak table with matching chairs sits close to the front window and to the left is a worn, black, leather corner sofa in front of a large flat screen television which stands next to a dusty mantelpiece.

"This is nice," Gaspard says, "A bit of maintenance wouldn't go amiss; I take it your sister isn't asthmatic."

Samantha is too busy taking in her surroundings to pay attention to anything he says. She approaches the mantelpiece and looks at the many photo frames that cover the surface, some containing photographs that she recognises. A tarnished silver frame catches her eye. Samantha picks it up and uses her finger to wipe some of the dirt off of the glass. Gaspard peers over her shoulder. In the picture, he can see a smiling couple; a woman with long, wavy, dark brown hair and a man with short brown hair and glasses, sitting at a metal garden table. Standing behind them are two little girls, no older than nine or ten, pulling silly faces.

"Oh my goodness," she utters.

"That's them, isn't it; your parents?" He asks.

"Yes," Samantha speaks quietly.

Gaspard instinctively puts his arms around Samantha's shoulders and kisses the top of her head. She puts back the frame and scans the others. There's much newer frames that haven't collected any dust yet; photographs of Elly and her pack members; on holiday in Italy, New York and France, all standing in front of iconic buildings. She inspects the picture of the girls in Paris; the Eiffel Tower stands tall in the background.

"You know, Paris isn't all it's cracked up to be," Gaspard assures her.

"That's the girl who died before we got to Elly," Samantha says, pointing to one of the faces.

Suddenly, Samantha turns her head and snatches the picture next to it, frantically wiping the glass. Samantha and her father stand in front of a wall, both covered with splotches of peach and holding paint rollers. Hurriedly, as if she's being spied on, she shoves the frame into her bag.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Gaspard exclaims.

"This doesn't belong here," she states, "This is the last photograph taken of me and my dad and it shouldn't sit here and never be looked at fondly because it's covered in shit. Elly has nothing to do with it and it's mine. It's all I have left of him."

"I just thought you should probably ask first."

"I don't need her permission to take these. Just because it isn't in my old bedroom, doesn't mean it's not mine."

"Sam, please don't be like that. I don't know anything about what you're going through, you know that, but I'm trying to be here for you. I'm not here to be your verbal punch bag every time I say something that doesn't make sense to you."

Samantha looks down at her feet and sighs.

"I know," she says, "I'm sorry."

"I suppose you'll need this too," he suggests, holding out another picture and could have been no one else except Samantha and her mother.

"Yes," Samantha smiles slightly, taking it from him and putting it in her bag.

"You look like her," he says, studying the two smiling faces.

"Let's go and find that purse," Samantha suggests, ignoring his statement.

"Good idea."

They cross the hallway and make their way up the creaky stairs. When they reach the top, they're met with four doors. Samantha takes the door directly in front of them, stepping into her sister's bedroom. A lot has changed since she was last here; the walls have gone from bright pink to a soft lilac, the once single standing wardrobe has become a long line of in-built sliding doors with floor to ceiling mirrors. Elly has taken their mothers old dressing table and revamped it to match the rest of her white furniture. Samantha walks around the bed and pulls open the second drawer of the dresser and rummages through the mass of makeup and jewellery; lip gloss, mascara, unpaired earrings, eye-shadows in every colour of the rainbow, necklaces and a lifetimes supply of foundation. Eventually she find Elly's floral patterned purse. Tangled with the clasp is a small gold chain with a star charm, engraved with the words 'star sister'. Samantha scowls at it and throws it back into the drawer before slamming it shut and storming out of the room.

"Before you say anything," Samantha warns, "I'm fine."

"Ok," Gaspard nods.

To Samantha's right is a closed white door. As she tugs at the handle, she discovers it's locked.

"Surely not," she mutters to herself.

Samantha kneels down and runs her hands along the floor. She discovers a tear, hidden to the naked eye by the fluffiness of the carpet. She sticks her fingers underneath it and fumbles around. Finally, her index finger touches cold metal. Grabbing the key, she realises that the reason Elly has left her room untouched is because she couldn't unlock it and didn't want the hassle of breaking in.

"Good hiding place," Gaspard comments, offering his hand to pull her up.

"You need it when you have a little sister who liked to steal your clothes," Samantha states, taking her boyfriend's hand.

Eagerly, Samantha unlocks and opens the door. But barely two paces in, she stops in her tracks. It feels as though she has taken a step back in time; almost five years back to be more precise. Her bedroom is exactly how she remembers it. She is suddenly bombarded with feelings of fear and a sickening churning in her stomach; maybe she wasn't ready for this after all. Gaspard begins to worry as his girlfriend starts to tremble slightly.

"Sam?" He says quietly.

Samantha sits down on the floor with a thud. She cups her forehead with her hands, hyperventilating and avoiding eye contact with any object in the room.

"I don't think this was a good idea," she whimpers.

Gaspard comes to kneel beside her.

"It's ok," he whispers, "We can go now."

For a while, all Samantha can do is sit and stare at the floor. Silent tears drop onto the caramel coloured carpet and her breathing slows to a normal pace.

"No," she says, shaking her head, "No, I have to do this."

With Gaspard's arms to support her, Samantha slowly stands and moves to sit on the bed. He seats himself beside her and looks around. The walls are cream and chocolate brown striped and covered in posters of Paolo Nutini and Christina Aguilera. Photo booth pictures of Samantha and Elly sit on top of a chest of draws and more are pinned to a notice board along with a Chinese takeaway calendar given to customers around New Year and a lanyard from V Festival. The shelves are stacked with romance novels and DVDs, all in alphabetical order of course. He turns to look at the extensive collection of soft toys set out neatly on the duvet. He picks up a small stuffed wolf with a label printed with a Colchester Zoo logo.

"I didn't know how much you liked teddies," he says, "I would have had a few more ideas for birthday and Christmas if I did."

"I've just kept them all from when I was younger," Samantha replies, "Except that one. It was from my parents on my eighteenth."

"Is this where I get to learn all of the secrets that you've shut away from me?"

"There are no secrets. You know everything."

"I didn't know you were so into your romance fiction."

"That was before you came along. After you, I didn't need them and I still don't."

Samantha smiles weakly. It sounds so cheesy but it's true. Every page of every novel in loving whirlwind romances, relationships that have gone through hell and yet somehow make it through and haters that turn into lovers, nothing compares to the real life experience of her own messed up and mad story. She doesn't imagine that many stories like hers have been told.

"Do you want to grab some of your things and get going?" Gaspard asks, worrying about another breakdown.

Samantha nods and pushes herself off of the bed. She heads straight for the chest of draws and goes through each of them, from top to bottom, and makes a pile on the floor; a purse, a savings account book, a few t-shirts, a few pairs of socks with funky prints and a mobile phone.

"Hannah can have this," she says, holding up the old Samsung.

She takes a few pieces of jewellery from a jeweller's box on her bedside table along and some of the DVDs from the shelf.

"What about this?" Gaspard asks, holding out the stuffed wolf.

"What about it?" Samantha responds.

"Don't you want to take it with you? Your parents died when you were eighteen. Your birthday is in September so this must have been one of, if not the last thing that they bought for you."

Hesitantly, Samantha reaches out and takes the toy from him, looking at its lifeless, sad eyes that are the reason she had chosen it, because it looked like it needed a home to cheer it up. She holds it to her chest, resting her chin on its soft faux fur.

"I think I'm done," she says.

Samantha picks up her now fairly hefty bag and marches down the stairs. When they finally lock up and return to the car, she takes a deep, relieved breath before pulling out of the driveway.

"It must have been strange going home," Gaspard says, breaking the silence between them.

"It's not my home anymore," Samantha replies.

"You know what I meant."

"It's going to haunt me for a while. That was like taking a step back in time both physically and emotionally. So much has been brought back to me about my parents and Elly, just all the memories I have in that house. Most of them are happy but that seems to make it feel worse."

"I really don't know what to do to make you feel better, mon chéri."

Samantha shrugs her shoulders in reply. She's an emotional wreck in the making and all she really wants to do is curl up in bed and spoon her way through a jar of strawberry jam whilst watching reruns of CSI; which is strange because she doesn't really like strawberry jam.

"I'm just going to take Elly's purse to her and go to the bank," she says, "I want to check that savings account. It's not possible that she hasn't been in my bedroom for all this time. She's obviously either broken in or did find the key but put it back afterwards. I wouldn't put it past her to have nicked all of it."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hannah chews the inside of her lip, thinking hard about the square pieces of card laid out before her and wondering if she's going to make the right choice.

"There are so many different names for the same thing nowadays," Alec sighs, throwing down a few more onto the table, "I remember a time when this was so much simpler."

"Says the man who lived through World War Two," Hannah retorts, "I wouldn't call a war simple."

"I was referring to this sort of activity only," Alec replies.

"I know you were," Hannah smiles, holding up two more pieces of card for her boyfriend.

Alec takes them and closes one eye as he holds them out towards the wall.

"They definitely work," he says, "If you want to live in a circus tent."

"I hate Dulux," Hannah frowns, "They've made my life a living hell in a matter of a couple of hours."

A knock on the door disrupts the couple's interior design discussion.

"I'll get that," Alec says.

When Alec opens the door, a large, stocky man with short brown hair, covered in tattoos, barges in with a face that displays nothing but anger. He stops in front of Hannah, who looks at him in surprise.

"Um, can I help you?" She asks.

"Your werewolves are out of hand, young lady," the man shouts.

"Stand back," Alec warns, stepping towards the man to drive him away from Hannah.

"They're not 'my werewolves' and they're not out of hand," Hannah frowns, "If they were then I would know about it."

"There has been werewolves running riot, savaging vampires left, right and centre and I'm putting that down to you and your lack of control over them," the man spits.

"Excuse me?" Hannah growls, standing up and leaning forward to look directly into the man's eyes, "I think you need to watch your mouth. I might be new but that doesn't mean I can't order to have you face the real death."

"True death," Alec quietly corrects her.

"Whatever," Hannah snaps, "They are not dogs, they are not savages and they are not slaves that I control. But if there are werewolves attacking vampires, I will find who they are; I can guarantee you that it isn't the ones that I know."

The man scowls at the young Marshall and folds his arms over his chest.

"If it isn't your friends, then I suggest you get working on finding these unwelcome guests. It's your job to make sure that shit like this doesn't happen," he states, "I'm sure if these new wolves are causing trouble, yours will be more than willing to help you."

As much as Hannah dislikes the man's attitude towards her, she holds her tongue. She knows he's right; she needs to sort this out and sooner rather than later. She takes a deep breath and composes herself.

"Ok, well, thank you for telling me about this," she says, "I'll make sure it's sorted."

"I look forward to seeing what you're going to do," the man replies, turning his back on her and making his way out, making sure to glare at Alec as he passes by him.

Alec follows the man and shuts the door. He looks at Hannah, their blue-green eyes meeting each other.

"Are you ok?" He asks.

"You know what, I don't know," Hannah admits, "Part of me is angry because he showed so much doubt in my abilities but then again I don't blame him. I'm new and, to be fair, even I doubt myself sometimes."

"But he has no right."

"That's what I was thinking. But, in a way, I'm glad he came to me for help... Sort of…"

"Do you fear that you won't be able to fulfil the tasks that are being asked and expected of you?"

Hannah sighs and nods. Alec walks over to her, only needing to take a few strides with his long legs to reach her.

"I will stop it," Hannah vows, "I'm just hoping I can do it before anymore vampires die. If it keeps happening and I don't solve it quickly enough, they'll hate me.

"Darling, you're not on your own with this," Alec reminds her, kissing the top of her head.

"I know but the thing is Sam and Gaspard are already trying to rally the other packs together to chip in and be on the lookout for these people or werewolves or whatever they are. But no one has seen anything and anyone who has either hasn't survived or it's happened so quickly that they can't remember. I can't ask them to hurry the hunt. The only thing I can think of is sending a search party out but that would mean getting some of the stronger vampires involved which would also guarantee everyone knowing what a failure I'm turning out to be. I could go to Queen Ida but she'll still probably tell me to get the stronger vampires together, creating the same problem and then if..."

"Good grief! Slow down! I'm sure that Samantha and Gaspard have a perfectly good plan and we just need to wait a little while for it to get going. Everything will be fine."

XXXXXXXXXX

Samantha jumps when she hears something slam against the kitchen cupboard. She frowns and puts down the photographs she's sifting through. She peers into the kitchen and spies Gaspard's back facing her.

"What are you trying to break this time?" She asks.

Gaspard doesn't reply with either a witty response or an honest answer. He just stands with his back to her, unmoving and silent. Samantha steps fully into the kitchen and moves so she can see his face. Gaspard's hands are clenched and pressed against the counter. From his side profile alone, she can see something unpleasant brewing in his expression.

"Fuck!" He shouts, slamming his fists against the counter and making Samantha jump again.

It must have been his fists hitting the cupboard door before. She knows that she hasn't done anything wrong, and Rosie hasn't been home all day, Hannah and Alec are asleep. Perhaps something has happened with his work. She can't imagine anything work-related would cause such anger to build up.

"Gaspard, what's wrong?" She asks timidly.

"It wasn't just your sister that this pack was after," he says through gritted teeth.

"What do you...," Samantha cuts short, not wanting to know the answer.

"How many wolves strong is Marc's pack?"

"Um... Seven."

Gaspard's expression stays, unwavering. He straightens up and wipes his hand down his face with a stressful groan.

"Three dead, four in hospital, one of them is on life support," he states.

"How did you..." Samantha begins.

"Doctor Coleman just called me. He thought I might care to know."

"I'm afraid to ask but I have to know. Who did we lose?"

"He didn't say. I was afraid to ask."

"We have to go and see them. We have to know what happened."

"We will but not today. First, we speak to the pack."

"Right, pack comes first."


	7. Chapter 7

Just as the alphas had only a few nights ago, the pack are seated in the living room, taking whatever space that they can find on the chairs and floor. The bright morning sunshine lights up the room, making them squint in the glare and elevate their hands to shield their eyes. No one has had to do much thinking to know why this meeting has been called.

"I take it this is about Marc's pack," Lance says, sitting down cross-legged, "It's going round like wildfire. Apparently even werewolves can fall into the simple human habit of gossip and Chinese whispers. I've already heard one idiot saying it was Jake and his lot."

"I bet he's happy with that," Imogen says, "Nothing like questioning the honour of an already bad tempered alpha."

"Enough people heard him having a good laugh about your meeting," Ian adds, "Be warned, Sam, everyone knows about your sister now. The man has a big mouth."

"I never saw that coming," Samantha replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes, "Why on earth do they all think it was his doing?"

"This is where it gets interesting," Ian continues, "Marc was there when Jake started taking the piss. He didn't take to it too kindly so they had a bit of a standoff. It wasn't much but it was enough to draw in some attention."

"Oh, good," Gaspard sighs, rubbing his temples between his thumb and index finger.

"We all know Jake didn't do this," Samantha says.

"You can bet he'll start offering as much help as possible now though," Lance says, "After all, I'm sure he's more than keen to clear his name."

"I suppose that's a plus," Imogen shrugs, "Are you going to go and see them in the hospital?"

"Not just yet," Gaspard shakes his head, "I think it's best if we give them a bit of recovery time. I know that this problem just got a lot more serious but they're in bad enough shape without us jumping down their throats, demanding every detail of what happened. I doubt they want to relive the experience again so soon and I'm sure the police have already questioned them a dozen times already."

"I don't know what they would have told them," Victoria says, "How do you explain claw marks and bites that rival the strength and damage of a Rottweiler? Even a pack of wild dogs couldn't do that much damage; not in such a short amount of time and with so many people who could have helped one another. All of those wolves can hold their own in a fight and even more so when they have back up. I couldn't dream up an explanation for that."

"We'll find out soon enough," Samantha replies.

"In the meantime, I need you all to be as vigilant as possible," Gaspard requests, "I know it's not the most ideal or convenient form of protection but I would prefer you to stick together and stay in human form as much as possible."

"Imogen, can I stay with you?" Lance asks innocently, turning to the blonde and resting his chin on her knee, "We can have nice chats and do each other's hair like you and Sam used to do. I haven't been able to play in a while."

"Sod off," Imogen smiles, shoving his head away.

"Even in a crisis, all you can think about is how to get the next girl into your bed," Ian scowls.

"Is there nothing we can do to help?" Nathan asks, finally speaking up.

"I don't want to put you in harm's way but if you feel you need to do something then let it be scouting," Gaspard replies, "Again, in human form only. You can go to pubs, bars, parks, libraries and anywhere else public where these wolves might pick out and hunt their victims. I forbid any of you to be alone if you plan to do this and you must inform me beforehand."

"So this is how it goes," Lance sighs, "The strongest pack in the area and we're being outsmarted by a bunch of nut jobs on a killing spree."

"We're not being outsmarted," Samantha replies, "We're being outmanoeuvred."

"You need to be smart to do that," Lance says, "Let's face it; we're trapped at the moment."

"I have to admit, I agree on this," Nathan says, "We've got two out of five packs that have just been nearly obliterated."

"As awful as this attack was, we have just had a tonne of answers thrown at us. It's not exactly the most ideal method but maybe we can finally get some better information now that there's more witnesses," Samantha points out.

"What if they have nothing?" Imogen asks.

"They'll have something," Samantha responds.

"But what if their information is the same as your sisters?" she questions, "It's all fair and well telling us what you think might keep us safe but you can't play detective forever. We need to take more action than that."

"No," Gaspard states, "That's not happening."

"Gaspard, mate, please," Lance says, "You can't confine us to a human life and expect us still to be safe. I think I speak for all of us when I say I would rather be doing a bit more than stalking around Hylands Park until I catch a scent in the air."

"You're my responsibility," Gaspard says, "If I give orders that end in one or more of you getting hurt or worse…"

"Look," Imogen interrupts, "I think it's our choice if we want to put our lives on the line or not."

"Not if I say you can't," Gaspard argues.

"How about this," Victoria calls out, grabbing everyone's attention, "We respect Gaspard as our alpha and for the time being, we do as he says. But, I propose a deal should be made that as soon as you feel that a move needs to be made, we're in on it and we will be involved in it. We all appreciate that you're trying to protect us but we're not children."

"It's the whole point of being a pack," Lance adds.

"Don't do all of the dangerous work just because you want us to stay safe," Ian says.

"We don't even know if we're safe doing what you say anyway," Imogen sighs.

Samantha looks expectantly at Gaspard, searching for an answer on his face. Though she thought he was right to keep them as far out of harm's way as he can, now she can see that it's not fair on them. Lance is right; the point of having a pack is staying together, protecting each other and sharing the burden of any and all problems, especially those that put them all in danger. Instead of replying to them, to Samantha's surprise, he looks at her with eyes that ask for help. For one of the first times in his life as an alpha, he has no idea what to do. He doesn't know what the right decision is.

"I think they're right," she says quietly.

"Ok," Gaspard nods, "I'll go with that deal."

The faces of the pack light up with the thrill of their victory and the chance to help.

"You can count on us," Ian assures his alpha.

"Thank you," Gaspard says.

"You better not hide stuff from us though," Lance warns, "Or I'll kick your backside from here all the way back to Paris and hand you back to your mother."

"Noted," Gaspard smiles.

Beyond this point of conversation, the pack adopts a course of normal chatter, trying to take their minds off of the overhanging worry about the rogue pack. Eventually, they all filter out of the house to go about their own business; haircut appointments to keep, cars to be fixed and tables to be served. Even Gaspard follows suit and takes himself and his equipment to work. By ten o'clock, the only people left in the house are Samantha and Victoria. They move to the kitchen where Victoria sits herself at the kitchen island, a big grin plastered across her face.

"So, what makes you want to keep my wonderful company instead of marking all of those exam papers?" Samantha asks, pulling a cold jug of water from the fridge.

"Well, I have some happy news," Victoria explains.

"That's something I've not heard for a while. All it's been recently is bad or worse."

"You can't say anything to the others. I was going to save this to tell everyone at once but I'm bursting to say something to someone. I couldn't tell Imogen because she can't keep her mouth shut."

"I won't say a word."

"Not even to Gaspard."

"I promise."

"Put the jug down. I don't want you to drop it."

"Wow, this really is big news."

Samantha places the jug on the kitchen island and looks into Victoria's glittering eyes.

"I'm pregnant!" She exclaims.

"Oh my goodness, shut up," Samantha says, too dumbstruck to say anything else.

"Four weeks," Victoria beams.

"Holy crap, that's amazing!" Samantha cries.

She rushes to the opposite side of the island and embraces Victoria tightly.

"Nathan nearly passed out when I told him that it's twins," she laughs.

"Are you serious?" Samantha yells with delight.

"Yes."

"I'm so happy for you. You must be so excited."

"We are! We've been trying for a while."

"I'm sure they'll be just as beautiful as their mother or as strong as their father. You're going to make fantastic parents."

"Thank you," Victoria blushes.

"I can't believe it," Samantha breathes, "Our first pack pregnancy."

"I will say, the hormones flying about at the moment are driving Nathan crazy," Victoria says.

"Cravings and angry half hours with break downs in between?" Samantha asks.

"Oh goodness, no," Victoria shakes her head, "This is the opposite kind of crazy; sort of a good crazy."

"What?" Samantha says in disbelief.

"The smell," Victoria explains, "Apparently I smell like I'm in heat but times three. He won't leave me alone!"

Samantha's stomach flips. Memories of Gaspard's words to her just a few nights ago come back to her. The sudden severely driven sex on the sofa is brought back to mind.

"That's odd," she utters.

"Yeah, it is a bit," Victoria replies, "Are you ok? You've gone a bit pale."

"I'm fine," Samantha says, "Sorry. I guess the thought of Gaspard not leaving me alone is a bit terrifying; I'd never get any housework done."

Victoria gives Samantha a look of doubt. Samantha hopes that she thinks maybe the thought of a lack of housework really would bother her that much. Or maybe think that her mind drifted off for a moment.

"We've decided that we're going to find out the genders," Victoria says.

"Are you placing bets on it?" Samantha smirks.

"Ha! That wouldn't be a bad idea," Victoria laughs.

"My money is on two boys," Samantha declares, "I put twenty quid on it."

"Nathan thinks that too."

"And what do you think it is?"

"I'm happy with whatever they come out as."

Samantha feels a great sense of urgency. As awful as it is, she suddenly wants Victoria to leave.

"Well ask the others for their input. Gaspard will put his money on two girls," Samantha says.

"Have you and Gaspard thought about..." Victoria begins.

"No," Samantha interrupts, "Not really. I mean, we've spoken about it but nothing serious."

Once again Victoria looks puzzled. Samantha knows she's onto her but she can't help being so abrupt when she's nervous.

"Sam," she frowns, "Seriously, what is wrong?"

Samantha's brain struggles to find an excuse. Anything will do except the truth.

"It's just," she pauses for a moment, "You see, we're not so different in age so I've suddenly started thinking... well, wondering if I'm..."

"Leaving it too long to start a family?" Victoria asks.

"Yes, yes that's it."

"No not at all. It all depends on the person. I mean, a lot of people don't have babies until they're in their thirties these days. You have plenty of time."

"Ok, I was just being silly then."

For the time being, it seems as though Samantha has thrown Victoria off of the scent of her true reasons for being so worried. But it's obvious that Victoria plans to make at least half a day of seeing her so she has to put on a calm face for now.

XXXXXXXXXX

As it turned out, Victoria made three quarters of a day with Samantha, insisting on opinions concerning baby names, bedroom colours, potential new houses and many 'what if' scenarios surrounding the subject of Nathan proposing. Samantha had even needed to start cooking dinner whilst chatting; mainly to keep her mind from wondering for the millionth time. When Victoria has finally said her goodbyes and head for home, Samantha makes a dive for her mobile less than a second after closing the front door.

"Hello," Rosie's voice speaks on the other end of the phone.

"Rosie, I need you to do me a favour," Samantha says.

"What's that?" Rosie asks.

"I need you to pick me up a pregnancy test on your way home," Samantha cringes.

"Ok, I have two things to say; what the fuck and hell no," Rosie replies.

"Why?" Samantha exclaims.

"Sam, I am eighteen years old," Rosie states, "How do you think that's going to look? If anyone from my class saw me it would be around the college quicker than I can shift."

"Well, can you get Tyson to buy it and I'll give him the money back?"

"Everyone knows he's my boyfriend! That makes it no better!"

Samantha groans in frustration.

"Ok, don't worry about it. It'll have to wait until tomorrow," Samantha sighs.

"Why can't you get it yourself?" Rosie questions.

"Because I have food on and if I leave it will burn," Samantha explains, "It's not dark enough for Hannah or Alec to come out and watch it for me so I have to stay until it's done. By that time the shops will have shut."

"I'm sorry," Rosie says, "There's a lot I don't mind doing for you but this is one I just can't."

"No, no, it's fine. I shouldn't have expected you to do something like that."

"Also, you haven't answered my first question; what the fuck? You're pregnant?"

"I... You need to promise that you won't say anything to Gaspard."

"You're pregnant!"

"No... Yes... I don't know yet. That's why I need the test."

"Sam, this is great!"

"Yeah, well, just keep it quiet for now, ok?"

"Alright, I don't see why you want to hide it though. Gaspard will be so excited!"

"Rosie, keep your gob shut, please."

Samantha hangs up the phone and puts her hand on her forehead. She wonders whether Gaspard would really be excited. They have spoken about the prospect of children but it's never been a serious subject of conversation. He might be horrified and say that he doesn't want kids yet. But right now she needs to focus on not losing her mind and keeping a poker face for the time being.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rosie has never had so much trouble keeping a secret in her life. Within her she holds countless tales of terrible actions and filthy occurrences that have been confided in her by her friends, yet as she sits with her food in front of her, she can barely open her mouth to eat it without the intense desire to shout what she considers to be some of the best news of the century.

"You're quiet," Gaspard says, giving Rosie a sideways glance.

Samantha looks at the shifter, her eyes begging her to remember not to mention their earlier conversation.

"I'm just tired," she replies, "I've done a lot today."

She points towards the pile of shopping bags at the foot of the staircase.

"Oh yes, spending your birthday money must have been a real chore," Gaspard smiles.

Samantha relaxes as Gaspard and Rosie settle into a simple conversation about the necessity of owning nine pairs of black leggings. She half listens and plays along nodding and throwing in the odd comment when necessary, but her attentions are far from what colour compliments her eyes the most. She's brought back into the room when Rosie gasps.

"What's wrong?" Samantha exclaims, suddenly panicking that Rosie may have accidently said something.

"Did this happen today?" She asks, holding up the newspaper.

Neither of them had told the teenager about the attack on Marc's pack. Having her avoid the territory seemed a good enough precaution without exposing her to the amount of violence going on around her. Samantha had forgotten about the front page article on the local newspaper.

"Last night," Gaspard answers.

"This is Marc as in the alpha Marc?" Rosie questions.

"Yes," Gaspard nods.

Rosie looks at the article closely.

"This is another attack," she states, "It's impossible that they 'were chased by a big group of youths and stabbed multiple times'. They're wolves. Even a group of fifty humans wouldn't be able to do that kind of damage."

"The men who dealt with Hannah's attack must have gotten their first," Samantha says, "What were their names? Officer Marley…"

"Officer Marney," Gaspard corrects her, "I would imagine he was contacted rather quickly. Doctor Coleman would have made sure he was the first one to get there. It's all a cover up."

"Should we be getting ready to move to some sort of safe house?" Rosie asks.

"This is why we don't tell you things," Samantha sighs, "We're not moving away or hiding under a rock. We're staying here and we're going to sort it out."

"I really hope so," Rosie says, "It's not just you that you have to keep safe."

Samantha shoots a frightening glare at Rosie, soundlessly reminding her to watch what she says in front of Gaspard. Luckily, it was only taken as a passing comment about the pack. She inwardly sighs with relief.

"I don't think we should talk about this anymore," Gaspard states, "Bore me with what you bought today, Rosie."

Ignoring his sarcasm, Rosie almost instantaneously forgets about the troubles that seem to be building up around her and reveals her new dresses and leggings, coupled with a full explanation on why nine pairs of them are completely necessary to her wardrobe. For the meantime, everything is calm.


	8. Chapter 8

In East London, a man sits in a waiting room nervously. He's nervous because today, after what feels like an eternity, is the day that he may finally find what he has been looking for. He never knew a place like this existed; the people running it have done well to keep their extracurricular activity hidden. He runs his fingers through his dark but greying hair and takes a deep breath. A woman in a black suit with shoulder-length, almost orange, wavy hair emerges from a door behind the receptionist's desk.

"Mr. Finch," she calls.

The man sits up straight.

"Yes," he responds.

The man lifts himself off of the chair and slowly makes his way over to the door that the woman is holding open for him. Once he enters, he finds himself in a typical, plain office with beige walls and walnut furniture.

"Please, sit down," the woman smiles, gesturing towards a black leather chair in front of a desk.

"Thank you for seeing me," he breathes.

The woman walks around to the other side of the desk and moves a pile of paperwork to one side.

"So," she begins, "What can I do for you, Mr. Finch?"

"Call me Martin," the man insists.

"Ok, Martin," the woman replies, "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone," Martin says, "I'm not sure if she would be anywhere in your databases or records but..."

"You are aware that this is an adoption agency, aren't you?" the woman interrupts.

"Yes, I know that but I also know that you deal with more than just human clients. Just hear me out," Martin pleads.

"I'll listen to what you have to say," the woman agrees "But I don't think that I'll be able to help you."

"I understand," Martin nods.

"Go ahead."

"I have a daughter; a girl who I previously thought had been fathered by another man and for sixteen years her mother kept that from me. I have been searching for her ever since I found out. It's been almost two years and there hasn't been so much as a trace of her. But I can't give up. I can't give up knowing that there is a young woman out there who has no true father. When I heard about this agency, I had to come here, in case there's the slightest chance that I could get just any information on her whereabouts."

"Why isn't she with her mother or non-biological father?"

"The man who called himself her father threw her out when he found out that she wasn't his. He left her alone in the middle of nowhere when she was only thirteen."

"Forgive me for being so blunt, but, if that's true, what makes you think that she would have been able to survive in a situation like that at such a young age?"

"I know because she's just like me."

The woman stares at Martin.

"What do you mean?" She asks.

"She's a shape shifter," Martin replies.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Sam, are you ok?" Rosie asks.

"Yeah, I'm great," Samantha lies.

"Have you looked at it yet?"

"No."

"You've given it more than enough time, just look at the test!"

"I'm scared."

"Just look at the damn test!"

"Alright, fine!"

For a short while, there is complete silence. Then Samantha opens the bathroom door.

"What does it say?" Rosie questions.

She can't decipher the expression on Samantha's face. The wolf doesn't say a word but instead slowly nods her head. Rosie squeals in delight and throws her arms around Samantha's neck. When the shifter doesn't feel her hugging back she steps away.

"Oh my goodness, I'm pregnant," Samantha utters.

"Good grief, Sam, crack a smile!" Rosie beams, "This is fantastic. You're going to make a great mum!"

"What am I going to tell Gaspard?"

"Um, you're going to tell him that you're expecting a mini Sam or a mini Gaspard; maybe both."

"Please, don't say that."

"Stop with this all this panicky crap. He's going to be thrilled."

"What if he's not?"

"That's not even a possibility."

Samantha takes a deep breath and tries to believe what Rosie is saying to her. Gaspard has never objected to the idea of being a father and he's also never mentioned a specific time in his life he wishes to wait for. Surely that means that anytime could be the right time. There is only one way to find out and all Samantha has to do is wait for Gaspard to get home.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Gaspard walks in through the front door, he finds Samantha sitting on the sofa, nervously tapping her feet on the floor as she watches the television on mute.

"Is this a cheap way of learning how to read lips?" he smiles.

Samantha forces out a small laugh that sounds more like a strange expulsion of air. Gaspard looks at her, confused, wondering when the witty response will appear. She is still tapping her bare feet on the wooden floor. Samantha notices his stare and smiles at him.

"How was your day?" She asks.

"It was alright I suppose," he replies, "Had a customer that reminded me of you."

"Whys that?"

"She brought a mental blueprint of how she wanted everything and didn't want to compromise unless it was a matter of life or death."

"I only do that in this house."

"And occasionally in Sainsbury's when the apples aren't in size order."

"But I...," Samantha starts, "Well, sometimes I don't need blueprints and things that aren't planned happen."

Gaspard can see her becoming more restless. Her feet are still lightly tapping and she is now tapping her fingernails on the seat next to her.

"Sam, what's wrong?" He asks.

Samantha looks straight into his piercing blue eyes, feeling them cut through her. She can't keep this up; she has to tell him. She watches as Gaspard walks towards her and sits on the coffee table in front of her. Samantha is so afraid that she doesn't even care that the table probably isn't made to take his weight.

"Do you remember the night of my sister's first phone call?" She asks.

"I can't really forget it," Gaspard replies.

"And do you remember saying about how I smelt the other day?" Samantha gulps.

"Yeah, I do," he smirks, "I'm not quite old enough to forget things that quickly yet. But what has this got to do with..."

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out.

For a few seconds Gaspard looks utterly bewildered. He wonders if he's heard her correctly. Tears start to well up in Samantha's eyes, fearful of what her boyfriend's response is going to be or if she's going to get one at all.

"You're... Are you serious?" Gaspard utters.

"I took a test this morning," Samantha nods.

Gaspard's mind reels and no words seem to be able to form in his mouth.

"Oh w-wow...," he breathes.

Samantha's tears break the barrier of her eyelids and roll down her cheeks as she watches him slowly stand and move a few paces away, running his fingers through his hair. She gets up and stands behind him.

"Gaspard," she says.

"You're pregnant," he answers.

"Yes," Samantha utters, "I'm so sorry. I forgot to take my pill and..."

"You're sorry?" Gaspard interrupts, "No, no, no, mon chéri."

He turns to her and cups her damp cheeks in his hands. He can feel her body shaking as he captures her lips in a loving kiss. When he pulls away, she looks so confused that Gaspard can't help but smile.

"You're happy?" Samantha questions.

"Happy is an understatement," Gaspard beams, letting go of her face.

Samantha squeaks in surprise as he picks her up. She wraps her legs around his waist for support and his hands rest on her bottom. She puts her arms around the back of Gaspard's neck and presses her forehead against his.

"I was so worried that you'd be upset," Samantha admits.

"Why in earth would I be upset? This is great!" Gaspard exclaims.

"But we've never spoken about it properly. I thought maybe because we haven't planned it that you wouldn't..."

"Sometimes I think you don't know me at all."

Samantha hugs Gaspard tightly and lays her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her tightly and nuzzles into the crook of her neck, breathing in the mesmerising scent of her skin.

"I love you," Samantha whispers.

"I love you too."

She sits up straight and gives him a look of complete bewilderment.

"Holy crap," she exclaims, "We're going to be parents!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Away from the expectant parents, Hannah is standing at the door that leads down into Elizabeth's dungeon. After setting free the captive humans, she had left it alone. Originally, she had no plans of ever touching it again but Alec has convinced her that the whole house needs a good cleanse including this hellhole. The entirety of the mansions ground floor has been cleared already; every painting has been removed, leaving the walls bare and the countless candles and ornaments have been taken off of every surface and most of them were disposed of. However, in this room there are no paintings, no fancy vases filled with expensive flowers on antique coffee tables and certainly no scented candles. Conveniently, Alec has taken off to find any information circling around the vampire community and how many supporters Hannah has within their midst. All of the staff have begged not to be led down to the one place they have been terrified of since they began their work at the mansion. So Hannah has been left alone with this task.

"It's ok, Hannah," the young vampire assures herself, "It's just an empty dungeon. It's just a creepy and probably haunted empty dungeon."

She pulls down the handle and cringes as the metal door squeaks with the movement of being opened. Her flat shoes crunch over the gritty concrete floor as she takes the first step on the short staircase. Hannah reaches out to find the switch which turns on several dim lights above each of the now vacant cages. There's still dried blood on the floor and footsteps imprinted in the dust where the barefooted prisoners had been carefully led out upon discovery. The heavy chains that were once clamped around their necks lay rusted and broken. A smell of urine and faecal matter lingers from where they were forced to live in their own filth. It's almost overpowering to her senses. At the top of the staircase is an array of cleaning tools and products but Hannah doesn't know where to start. More than anything she wants to remove all of the dreadful evidence of pain and torture, but until she can find someone willing to come down with a toolbox and a strong stomach, the cages and cuffs will have to stay. Suddenly, she hears the gentle patter of bare feet walking fast to her left. She turns, searching for the origin of the sound. Someone is down here with her. She stands stock still and tries to pinpoint where it's coming from. She's not entirely perfected the art of using her heightened abilities yet and in this moment it shows. Without warning, she discovers it's too late to hunt for the noise when it comes running at her from out of the shadows. A young girl brandishing a metal pole charges at Hannah. Her eyes are filled with rage and hatred. Hannah screams and darts out of the way.

"You bitch!" The girl screams.

"Wait, stop!" Hannah cries, "Wait!"

"You'll die for what you did to us!"

"Please, stop! I'm not Elizabeth!"

The girl launches herself again, deaf to Hannah's plea.

"I'll drive this through you just like you drove your fangs into me!" She shouts.

It hits Hannah that she's running away from a half starved, naked, weak human. In an instant she stands her ground and grabs the pole before the girl can raise it above her head.

"I am not Elizabeth," she repeats, "Elizabeth is dead."

Finally, the girl takes a good look at Hannah. It's clear that upon reaching this short distance between herself and the young vampire the girl has quickly learned that this isn't the woman who has hurt her.

"She's dead?" The girl utters.

"Yes," Hannah nods, "My friends killed her. I'm in charge now and I'm not going to hurt you so please stop trying to stab me."

The girls grip on the pole weakens until her hands slip away. Promptly, the dams that are the girls eyelids are broken by an explosive bout of tears.

"Miss Tamplin, are you ok?" A staff member's voice calls down the staircase.

"Um, yes, would you be able to get me some spare clothes, please?" She calls back.

"Certainly," the staff member calls back.

Cleaning the dungeon will have to wait for another time.

"What's your name?" Hannah asks the girl.

"It's… It's… Francesca," she says between sobs.

XXXXXXXXXX

Less than half an hour later, Hannah sits opposite the trembling girl who tried to attack her. She watches her shakily sip a steaming hot cup of tea. An empty plate speckled with toast crumbs is on the table between them. One of the staff members had advised bland food and a slow eating pace but the girl had barely taken a moment to chew. The state of her body created the question of how she had survived down in the dungeons for so long and with the number of puncture marks and lacerations on her skin that have scarred over without proper medical treatment, Hannah is surprised that she hasn't died of blood poisoning. Her eyes give the impression that they haven't seen the quiet world of sleep for an eternity and her bony hands say she hasn't seen real nourishment for even longer.

"So, Francesca, how long have you been here?" Hannah asks.

"I was born here," the girl replies casting a look to the floor, "I'm seventeen."

Hannah's jaw drops. This girl is almost the same age as her yet due to the bones sticking out of her dry, dehydrated skin she looks like a decrepit old woman.

"H-how did that happen?" She stammers.

Francesca puts her empty mug down and takes a deep breath.

"Elizabeth took my mother in with the promise of a better life by working for her," Francesca sighs, "I'm guessing she thought Elizabeth wanted her as a cook or a cleaner but instead she shoved her in the basement, gave her enough food to sustain her pregnancy and when I was born, Elizabeth did the bare minimum to ensure she would have an extra food source once I was old enough."

"That's awful," Hannah says, trying to understand how someone could be so cruel.

"That's what Elizabeth was," Francesca replies, "She was awful, cruel and heartless."

"Where's your mother now? Is she one of the people I released?"

"No."

"Where is she?"

"Elizabeth killed her in a fit of rage. Someone came down whilst she was feeding and told her some news that she didn't want to hear. That was a while ago."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's ok. Whilst I've been down there I've had enough time to grieve."

"Still, that's terrible. Do you have any other family that you can go back to? I can make sure that you have an escort to make sure you get there safely."

Francesca shakes her head, her solemn expression unchanging.

"I don't have anyone," she says, "My mother was an only child, both of my grandparents are dead and I don't know who my father is. He knows who I am but I think his words probably went along the lines of 'get rid of it because like hell am I paying child support and I don't want to have to explain this to my wife'."

"I'm running out of words to describe your situation," Hannah replies.

"It's ok," Francesca sighs, "I'll find somewhere."

A staff member appears and places a fresh cup of tea in front of the girl and a newly opened and warmed bottle of Tru Blood in front of Hannah. The young vampire thinks for a moment. She can't let Francesca leave without a thing in the world to her name. She could give her money but that doesn't guarantee her safety. No vampire will attack a girl in such bad condition, but a weak girl with money is easy prey for an unfriendly human. She thinks back to how Samantha and Gaspard had treated her when she first went to live with them. Clothes were handed down to her, food was provided and eventually friendship surrounded her in a protective bubble.

"No," Hannah says, "You should stay here. You can stay as long as you want but I can't let you leave until you're healthy. My grandmother did this to you so please let me make up for it. I inherited everything from her; this mansion, the money. No one will lay a hand on you, I promise."

Francesca stares at Hannah for a while.

"No one has ever been so kind to me," she utters.

"Not all vampires are monsters," Hannah smiles, "According to some people I've kept a lot of my human side. I don't even drink from people.

"So, what are you drinking right now?" Francesca asks.

"This is Tru Blood," Hannah says.

"Is it blood that people have donated willingly?"

"No, it's fake."

"What do you mean?"

Hannah realises that Elizabeth would have had no reason to tell her prisoners about the production of Tru Blood. For a start, the old vampire would have ignored the products existence in the first place. Though, she wouldn't have put it past the old vampire to tell the captive humans about it, just to make them feel all the more miserable.

"Some people decided that humans and vampires should be able to live equally without fear of being killed by one another," Hannah explains, "So they created fake blood that we can live off of."

"Do you mean to tell me that for all these years that I've been used as a food source, there was an alternative to the brutality of almost being drained?" Francesca asks, her voice beginning to break.

"It was only made a little while ago," Hannah assures her, hoping to make the girl better, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know," Francesca replies, "It's just difficult to imagine vampires not feeding on humans. I'm watching you happily drink a substitute..."

"A substitute!" Hannah cries, "That's the word I was looking for. Sorry, carry on."

"It's just bizarre," Francesca continues, "Have you not taken blood from anyone at all?"

"I did once," Hannah admits, "But it wasn't by choice. Someone hurt me enough for this stuff not to help me heal. I had to take blood from my friend. He was a werewolf though, so it's not as bad."

"He was a… a werewolf?" Francesca exclaims, "They're real too? When did everyone find out?"

"They haven't," Hannah says, "I only know because they found me after I was turned. But that's a bit of a long story."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Hannah's head turns to see Alec standing in the archway.

"No," Hannah shakes her head, "Come and sit down."

Francesca's wary eyes follow Alec as he passes Hannah to sit across the table from her.

"Who might you be?" He asks her.

Francesca doesn't answer, but stares blankly at him.

"This is Francesca," Hannah says, breaking the awkward silence, "I found her in the dungeon."

"I thought we let everyone go," Alec replies, "I'm ever so sorry. We didn't realise there was anyone else down there."

"We all make mistakes," Francesca finally says.

"Indeed we do, but this was a rather big one," Alec states.

"She's going to stay with us," Hannah tells him, "She has nowhere and no one so I thought it was a good idea."

"Of course," Alec nods, "That is a very good plan. Stay as long as you like, Francesca."

"Thank you," Francesca whispers, managing a small smile.


	9. Chapter 9

"I just remember the sound of their feet running behind us..."

"All of us heard it so we stopped..."

"As soon as we stopped, the noise stopped as well..."

"It was as though it had only been an echo..."

"But it wasn't..."

"I couldn't believe what I was seeing…"

"They had surrounded us and we didn't even realise..."

"We couldn't escape…"

"Every gap in the trees had a pair of eyes…"

"They were red; like demons…"

"I've never been so afraid of another wolf in my life and I'm not ashamed to admit that..."

"It was a perfect hunt..."

"There wasn't a chance in a million that we were going to get out of there..."

"I can't believe I'm alive."

"I can't believe I'm alive."

"I can't believe I'm alive."

Gaspard has spoken to each of the conscious survivors of the recent attack and now he sits in Marc's hospital room as he tries to remember everything that had happened.

"Do you remember what they looked like?" Gaspard asks, "Elly, Sam's sister, she said that they were all white."

"Not all of them," Marc croaks, his throat still weakened from surgery to fix damage to his trachea, "There was definitely more than one white wolf. I know because they were the first ones I spotted. But there were others hiding in the shadows."

"How many were there?"

"I can't be sure. We were all taken down at the same time though."

"We had six down as a number so Elly must not have seen the darker ones."

"I feel like such a failure, Gaspard. I know that even ten of me couldn't have saved us from injury but maybe it could have saved them all from death."

"Don't think like that. Christina and Alan are on their way to recovery."

"Georgia is still in critical condition though. I'm so close to losing her."

"She's off of life support now though so things are looking brighter for her."

Marc nods slowly and looks down at his twiddling thumbs.

"There was something different about this pack, Gaspard," he says, "Something that's off. One of them, he hadn't shifted. He was fully clothed and not a drop of sweat was on him. It's like he had been waiting for us."

"They've been watching you," Gaspard says.

"Yes. They've been paying attention to our every move; mapping the paths we take through the woods. These wolves knew that we would have been running a fair distance to get to where we were and that's when they chose to attack."

"For all this time, I thought they'd backed off when they were just watching."

"They spoke to us," Marc adds.

Gaspard looks at Marc with wide eyes. The last thing he expected was a clue to where these wolves are from.

"Tell me," he begs.

"They said we were bold for venturing out so late ," Marc recalls, "They told us that our weakness will be the death of us all and they were going to prove it by taking the territory that my insignificant pack don't deserve and destroying us."

"Was there anything in their voices that gave away something, an accent?" Gaspard asks clinging onto Marc's every word.

"Only two or three of them spoke," Marc says, thinking hard, "They had different accents. One was German for sure, that's the most prominent one. He'd been the one waiting for us. I'm not sure about the others. Definitely European but I can't place them. I wouldn't say French though. I've known you long enough to be able to tell the difference with that one."

Marc smiles as far as his stitched bottom lip will allow, enjoying his comment.

"Ok," Gaspard nods, anticipating more.

"I'm afraid that's all I have," Marc sighs, "I'm sorry Gaspard."

"No, that's fine," Gaspard says, "You've helped me massively. Thank you."

Gaspard pats Marc lightly on the shoulder and turns to exit the room.

"Gaspard," Marc calls out, "Please, be careful. The two territories neighbouring yours are empty now and you can be damn sure that they're keeping a close eye on you. I hate to say it but your pack is no match this time."

Gaspard nods before leaving. More concerned that he finally has some more information to go on.

XXXXXXXXXX

Two weeks pass in a blur of endless research on wolf attacks in countries where the explanation would be completely viable and similar situations involving suspected but unproven wild dog attacks. No evidence of cover ups surface on his searches but Gaspard didn't expect them to. Marc's information has been helpful in a way that's almost wasted time. Though there were definite correlations in different cases, nothing had brought him closer to finding the rogue packs whereabouts at this time. During the time that Gaspard isn't using his computer to research or edit photographs, Samantha takes over to scour the internet for more clues as to where the answer to Hannah's mysterious past lies. Like her boyfriend, her efforts are fruitless.

"This is ridiculous," Samantha grumbles, deleting a search for vampire attacks between 1993 and 1994, "There are tonnes of families that have been attacked that are now said to have been the work of vampires. Most of them left behind small children but without knowing what Hannah's original surname was, I can't know which one is her. I don't even if I'm looking at the right supernatural responsible for the attack. I'm going to just have to hunt down the adoption agency somehow."

"You've already tried that," Gaspard sighs, "You've lied about being a long lost family member to four of them, tried to claim yourself as a private detective to another and set up an account on an ancestry website. I don't know what else you can do. Besides that, you're forgetting that none of the adoption agencies are going to know what child you're talking about because no one knew about vampires back then. At most it'll be a suspicious unsolved cold case murder and you can't go hunting through nineteen years of police records. You need to tell her."

"Up yours," she scowls.

"There's no need to talk to me like that, young lady," Gaspard smirks, "Hormones don't excuse you from that kind of behaviour."

Samantha responds with a simple gesture with her middle finger and shuts down the laptop. She sits beside Gaspard on the sofa and leans her head on his shoulder.

"My first scan's on Friday," she says.

"Do you mean this Friday coming?" Gaspard asks.

"Yes, I told you last week."

"Fuck."

"You forgot, didn't you?" Samantha frowns.

"I'm sorry," Gaspard groans, running his hand down his face and pulling his glasses askew, "I've had my mind in so many different places."

"Can you cancel?" Samantha asks.

Gaspard pulls a pained expression. He's screwed up big time.

"This client is paying a lot. At the time I was thinking of putting the money aside for certain things," he explains, looking down at Samantha's stomach.

She raises an eyebrow at her boyfriend, undecided on whether she's annoyed. She supposes that just this one time, she can let him off on pure charm if nothing else.

"You better not do this again," she warns.

"I'll make this up to you," he says, "I promise I'll be present for the next nine months no matter what."

"You mean seven," Samantha corrects him.

"What?" Gaspard replies, giving her a confused smile.

"It's seven months."

"I wasn't aware you were planning to have a premature child."

Samantha looks at him for a moment before laughing.

"I completely forgot," she says, "You have a human mother."

"I'm fully aware of that but thanks for pointing it out just to double check I remember," Gaspard replies, "I still don't know what you're on about."

"No matter what species the father of a child is, whether it be a shifter, a werewolf or a human, if the mother is human then the pregnancy will be an average human length," Samantha explains, "If the mother is a werewolf, it's a shorter time period. I think it's the wolf that's in us that does it."

"Wow," Gaspard breathes.

"You learn something new every day," Samantha beams.

"I did wonder why you were having a scan so soon," Gaspard says, "I didn't say anything because I assumed you knew what you were doing."

"I wouldn't say that. I was in an all werewolf family so I have a vague recollection of girly chats with my mum about boys and safe sex and all that jazz," Samantha says, recalling the many nights she had spent talking to her mother about her perfect man.

"That worked out well," Gaspard teases.

"I'm going to slap you in a minute."

"Don't be like that."

Gaspard moves to kiss the side of her head and playfully nibble her ear.

"Don't start," she giggles.

"Why?" Gaspard simpers, nuzzling into her neck.

"It just doesn't feel right."

"I'll make you feel right."

"So this is what Victoria was talking about."

"What?"

Samantha freezes.

"Bollocks," she cringes.

"Victoria is pregnant as well?" Gaspard exclaims.

"Yes," Samantha nods, accepting that she may as well tell him now that she's blurted out the main part, "She's the one that caused me to take the test. She mentioned the way she smelled to Nathan and that he wouldn't leave her alone. I made the correlation."

"You girls are just full of surprises," Gaspard laughs.

"You can't say anything to anyone. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"My lips are sealed."

"I feel really bad now."

"I hope we don't steal her limelight when we tell everyone about us."

"Hardly," Samantha scoffs, "She's having twins."

Gaspard's eyebrows rise in surprise.

"I didn't know twins ran in either of their families," he says.

"Your dad really should have told you about all of this," Samantha replies, "Twins don't have to run in your family if you're a wolf."

"I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to explain that to me."

"We have the same potential for litters. Maybe not to the extent of having quadruplets but then again it's not impossible."

"So, twins and triplets are just as likely for us as well?"

"I think the first pregnancy tends to only be one or two but the chances of having more get higher every time. My mum was quite lucky to have one per pregnancy."

Gaspard runs his fingers through his hair. He's completely baffled by this new information. He had no idea up until now how different werewolves really are compared to humans. Maybe his father didn't know about any of this. After all, his mother was human so he only would have witnessed that kind of pregnancy.

"I guess we'll find out on Friday," he says.

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Rosie and Tyson are out in Chelmsford town centre. Tyson's shoes have finally fallen apart after years of loyal service and now a hunt for a new pair has begun.

"You're not going to believe this," she begins, holding up a pair of blue denim Converse, "I got a text from Hannah last night saying that she found another person in the dungeon."

"What was she doing back down there?" Tyson asks, shaking his head, "I'm not keen on denim."

"She wanted to start clearing all of it," Rosie replies, "She doesn't want a place like that under her roof."

"That's understandable," Tyson's says, "I wouldn't either."

"No, but apparently it gave her a bit of a shock," Rosie laughs, "The poor girl tried to kill her."

She holds up another pair of Converse, this time they're bright red.

"Put those on the maybe list," Tyson smiles, "Well, I can see why she would attack Hannah. She probably thought the others had been taken off to die or something and she was next. I'd put up a fight too."

"Hannah's determined to try and put right anything Elizabeth did wrong," Rosie sighs, "She's given herself an impossible task. That nutter had eight hundred years to commit all kinds of crazy wrongdoing."

"Yeah well let's just let Hannah carry on with that. She's obviously trying to at least make a dent in the list and if she's happy doing that then I don't see the point in telling her to do otherwise."

"That's what I think too. She's letting this girl stay with her until she starts looking like a human again. Apparently she's in a massive state."

"No good deed goes unpunished. She might still try to kill Hannah."

"I don't think she will. I have to make sure Hannah writes a will with my name as the sole heir to the mansion before she does any sort of dying."

"You better make sure that I'm included in that," Tyson chuckles.

Rosie continues to hunt through the endless shelves of Vans, Converse, Doc Martins and every other mid-range price brand of shoe she can think of. Across the shop, she spots a familiar face.

"Crap," she mutters.

Chris stands only ten feet from her current position, inspecting a pair of neon green and black Nike trainers. He catches her eyes as she stares at him and she quickly looks down and turns her back to him, wishing him away. Rosie shuffles back over to Tyson and decides to avoid that area of the shop until she's sure he's gone.

"Are you on some sort of covert mission?" Tyson's asks.

"What?" Rosie replies.

"You've suddenly started bending down behind the displays like your hiding," he says.

"That's because I am," Rosie answers, "Chris is over there and I don't want to face him."

"You're weird."

"I know."

"You're being silly. Just ignore him. He won't come over to you while I'm here."

"Fine but if he tries to talk to me, I'm breaking up with you."

Tyson rolls his eyes and smiles. He holds up a pair of pale pink Vans.

"These are definitely my colour," he beams.

"I don't think so," Rosie shakes her head, "But they are really cute. Maybe if the baby is a girl, I'll get her a mini pair of these."

"What baby are we talking about?" Tyson exclaims.

"Sam's pregnant!" Rosie cries, realising how bad her comment must have sounded.

"I was gunna say," Tyson says, breathing a sigh of relief, "I was thinking we were talking about a Virgin Mary style situation just then."

"No, that isn't happening for a long time," Rosie states.

"Good," Tyson laughs, "Don't ever scare me like that again, please."

While Rosie continues to hide from Chris, she's unaware of a second and third set of eyes focused on herself and Tyson.

"Are you sure that's the girl?" the first woman asks, her well-spoken English littered with undertones of something akin to a Polish accent.

"Do you doubt me?" the second woman asks her in an unmistakeable German accent.

"No, I just find it strange," the first woman replies, "A shifter living with werewolves. It's a thought to be ashamed of."

"She won't be living with anyone once we're done," the second woman smirks.

"Are we wiping out the shifters too? I thought our orders were for the packs only."

"We're allowed to kill scum like vampires for sport so I don't see much difference, do you?"

"No, but aren't they a bit… difficult?"

"Depends on what they can become. But that's the fun part. But for now, all we can do is keep an eye on them. We have far more important things to deal with first."

XXXXXXXXXX

The funeral for Elly's fallen pack members had been set for Thursday and though they were strangers to Samantha and Gaspard, they have decided to accept the invitation to attend. They had tried and failed to save them so in the eyes of wolf lore, it would be disrespectful to not be a part of the service that took them beyond the world of the living. Their car pulls up to the same graveyard in which James and Lorraine Hopkins are buried. Samantha switches off the engine and sighs.

"Do you think I'm here because I'm subconsciously providing comfort for Elly?" She asks.

"I don't know, mon chéri," Gaspard replies, "Only you know the answer to that."

"She didn't deserve any of this. She deserves my anger and hatred but she doesn't deserve to have had these people so violently wrenched away. They were her pack. She... loved them."

The last two words in her sentence are much less confident than the rest. She finds it difficult to believe that Elly could really love anyone.

"Very few people in the world would deserve that kind of fate. Least of all are the people who don't survive."

"So that's why I'm here. I'm here for the people who didn't survive and not for Elly."

Gaspard nods. He isn't sure whether Samantha is lying or desperately trying to convince herself that this is why she's allowing another situation to occur that involves coming into close quarters with her sister. Either way, he's here for her. The funeral is a typical atheist ceremony. Werewolf priests are few and far between, so most settle for a non-religious route. As they walk along the path between the gravestones, the mist that had descended upon Samantha during her last visit to the cemetery doesn't return for a second time but the sadness remains. They pass Samantha's parents and Hannah's empty grave, travelling far into the field of marked dead. When they finally reach the site of the ceremony, they find only three people; Elly, the celebrant and Harriet. The last remaining pack member had been discharged from the hospital earlier in the day on the basis that she can now hold her weight on her crutches without tumbling onto the grass. Neither of the girls has fully healed. Elly's black cardigan covers her many cuts and bruises, most of which will eventually scar and Harriet's leg is bound in a thick cast. She spots Samantha and Gaspard in the corner of her eye and approaches the couple.

"Thank you for coming," she says.

"Is no one else coming?" Samantha asks, ignoring her sister's thanks.

"We're waiting for Callia and Grace's parents. Gabby's aunt and uncle are on their way," Elly says.

"Does the celebrant know?" Gaspard asks.

"He's human," Elly replies, "He doesn't know anything. Only that they were murdered."

Elly moves back to speak with the celebrant, leaving Samantha and Gaspard standing alone.

"Great," Samantha says, "We're going to have to talk to the parents and relatives of these girls."

"They might not speak to us," Gaspard replies.

"Of course they'll talk to us," she retorts, "You can bet your arse that one of them has said something about us."

"Why would they?" Gaspard asks.

"We saved them. I don't know about Elly but I'm pretty sure that Harriet is grateful for saving her and she probably told the relatives about us coming to the rescue."

"We'll see."

"You can do the talking."

"Take it like a beta."

"Be an alpha. Speak for the pack I'm part of."

"I'm being an alpha. I'm ordering you to speak to them if need be."

Samantha huffs and folds her arms. It's not long before a short string of people arrive, all dressed in black with tissues in hand. They all make a beeline for Elly and Harriet, hugging them tightly and asking them how they are.

"I knew it," Samantha sighs, "Elly's pointing at us."

"It's not a big deal," Gaspard says.

"It's awful," Samantha states.

One of the women from the group begins to approach them, walking awkwardly on the uneven grass in her stilettos and holding her arms out sideways for support, as though she's walking a tightrope. When she reaches the couple, she looks at Samantha with eyes that have been wiped red raw from tears.

"You're Samantha," she says.

"Yes," Samantha nods.

"I'm Julianne; Callia's mum," she replies.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Samantha says.

"Elly told us what happened. She told us that you tried to save them all," Julianne says, before turning to Gaspard, "Were you there too?"

"I'm sorry we couldn't do more," he says.

"I have no doubt that you did everything you could," Julianne utters, her voice breaking slightly, "I just wanted to say thank you on behalf of all of us for trying. I know that I don't know you in the slightest, Samantha, but I know that if you're related to Elly, you must be a good person."

Julianne's words ring in Samantha's ears. Of course Elly would have never told anyone what had happened between them. The woman has only seen the sweet little girl that her sister had been brought up to be, not the power-hungry bitch Samantha knows her to be. None of the other parents or relatives comes to speak to either of them. Eventually, they all stand before the celebrant and the three graves as he speaks.

"We are here today to mourn the death and celebrate the life of three young girls," the celebrant begins, "Grace Jones, Callia Wood and Gabby Smith were wrongfully taken from this world

Elly moves to take the place of the celebrant and pulls a piece of paper from her pocket. Clearing her throat, she begins to speak.

"I remember the first time I bumped into Callia. I knew that there were a lot of different people at university but for some reason I never imagined that I would find someone so akin to me, especially on the open day," Elly starts, being careful with the words she uses in front of the celebrant, "My luck seemed to triple when I found Harriet, Gabby and Grace in my lectures. It's like it was meant to be. We became best friends in an instant. We were the perfect group. Gabby kept us smiling with her jokes and her infectious laugh and Grace suited her name so well; a wolf in sheep's clothing for lack of a better term, she did love her jumpers. Then there's Callia, sweet, quiet Callia who could keep all the secrets in the world. We were all bonded so well. We felt each other's pain and shared each other's joy. It didn't take me too long to realise that these girls were the kind of people that I could count on. That's when I decided that we should be more than just a group of best friends, we should be a pack; sisters under the moon. They were invaluable members of my life and this is the way that I will always remember them."

Gaspard grabs Samantha's hand, feeling her tense up beside him. She bites down on the inside of her lip until it bleeds, trying to bring her mind out of the situation with the pain. It doesn't work. So instead she slowly brews inside like a cauldron filled with a deadly potion; a vile concoction of nasty words and crude gestures just waiting to be poured out like lava. Gaspard winces as her nails dig into his skin. He nudges her ribs with his elbow, snapping her into reality again. She flashes an apologetic and appreciative smile in his direction, silently thanking him for pulling her out of the depths of the emotion building inside of her. She'll eventually succumb to it, but not right now. Not here. Not in front of the hurting families. Not long though.


	10. Chapter 10

Samantha sits in the maternity ward of Broomfield Hospital, surrounded by women in various stages of their pregnancies. Some are with husbands and boyfriends whereas others are with their mothers, one or two of which look like they're being escorted more than accompanied. Some of these girls could only be sixteen or seventeen, perhaps younger. Samantha is the only one sitting alone. She sighs sadly and rests her hands on her knees. Across from her is an olive-skinned woman who's well into her pregnancy, her seamless sphere-shaped stomach peeking out from under her baggy t-shirt. She spots Samantha looking at her and smiles, her full lips creating a perfect curve. She glows with the happiness of her expectancy.

"I'm seven months in," she says.

"Boy or girl?" Samantha asks.

"A baby boy," the woman replies, "Are you here for someone else or is it your first scan?"

"This is my first scan."

"How far in are you?"

Samantha thinks for a moment. She wonders if saying it's only been a month will seem too soon.

"Two months," she lies, playing it safe.

"Is anyone here with you?" the woman questions, looking from side to side.

"No," Samantha shakes her head.

"Whys that?" the woman asks.

People can be so unbelievably nosey but Samantha decides that a bit of female bonding between two expectant mothers can hardly do any harm.

"My boyfriend is working and no one else could make it," she replies.

"That's a shame," the woman says, her voice full of what seems like concern for the lonely wolf.

"Yeah, but he knows that I can look after myself," Samantha smirks, "I'm a big girl."

"You'll be an even bigger girl by the time you get to my stage," the woman says, rubbing her rounded belly.

Samantha looks at the woman whilst her own stomach churns. Maybe it's the thought of eventually looking like a she's swallowed a birthday balloon, or maybe it's that wonderful morning nausea.

"Mrs Sharma," a nurse calls from across the waiting room, "Mrs Anisha Sharma."

"That's me," the woman grins.

She slowly lifts from the seat, sighing with relieve when she manages to straighten up. Clearly the weight of her baby is creating some back pain. A man hastily appears by her side and takes her hand in his; most likely to be Mr Sharma. Samantha gives her a parting smile and watches her disappear around the corner, leaving her alone in back of the waiting room. She can't bring herself to look at the mother-to-be magazines stacked up on the table next to her. Her mother had always said that a person can read a million books on what to expect when you're expecting but nothing truly prepares you for the real experience.

"Miss Hopkins," a nurse chimes, "Miss Samantha Hopkins."

Samantha feels as though she's on trial as she passes through the middle of the other seated couples, looking at her as if she has something to be ashamed of. She'd sitting there for a lot less time and yet she's being seen before them. No one likes to be kept waiting. She quickly walks after the nurse until she's gestured into a room where Doctor Coleman is waiting for her.

"Well, this is certainly a most pleasantly surprising visit, Samantha," doctor Coleman beams.

"Surprising is one word for it," Samantha replies.

"Don't be so tense. You can't tell me that you're unhappy about this, can you?"

"Of course I'm not! I'm very happy but this is almost overwhelming."

"I promise you that there's nothing to be worried about. Have you had plenty to drink today?"

"Enough to know I'll need to go to the toilet straight after the scan."

"Excellent, as long as you hold it until then, we'll have no problems."

"I'm sure I have enough bladder control."

"If you just sit yourself up here and lay back, we can get started."

Doctor Coleman pats a hospital bed behind him. Samantha obeys. She hoists herself up and gets comfy.

"Now what do I do?" She asks.

"I need you to undo your jeans and pull them down just a tad and lift your top up," Doctor Coleman instructs.

"You should probably at least take a woman out for dinner before you start requesting things like this, Hugh," Samantha teases.

"I wondered what I was doing wrong," Doctor Coleman laughs, "This is going to be a bit cold."

He rubs a jelly-like substance onto Samantha's stomach. The chill makes her muscles tense for a moment.

"You weren't lying," she says.

"I rarely do," Doctor Coleman replies, sitting beside the bed and booting up the computer monitor in front of him, "So, what made you decide to take the plunge into the colourful world of parenthood?"

"A missed pill," Samantha states.

"I see," he replies, "Forgive me for asking but is this happening because you're against abortion or..."

"It's a happy accident," she confirms, "I think the whole situation was meant to happen. Solved the problem of trying to decide when the right time was. Apparently it's now so we're both pleased."

"That's how Renée and I ended up with Zoe," doctor Coleman tells her, "We'd been talking about having children only a week or so before she found out she was already a few weeks gone. How's that for a perfectly timing?"

He places a small handheld device on Samantha's stomach and moves it backwards and forwards over her skin. He becomes silent, concentrating on the screen. Samantha watches his face carefully and her heart begins to pound when his eyebrows rise as though in shock.

"What is it?" She asks.

"Well, um, I found them," he announces.

"Excuse me? Them?"

"Yes," doctor Coleman smiles and nods, "Congratulations."

XXXXXXXXXX

Gaspard feels dead on his feet by the time he reaches the house. His work had overrun and it's roughly midnight. He didn't have any time to sit down, let alone eat and by now, he's ravenous. He opens the door to a quiet house. Samantha will already be in bed on his command; he's concerned about her getting enough sleep. Rosie is nowhere to be seen or heard and the only other nightly variable has now moved out. He feels no guilt in being happy that everything is silent. The only lights that have been left on are the upstairs hallway and the kitchen. He drops his work bag on the floor next to the shoe rack and drags himself into the kitchen. Here he finds a bowl filled with chicken and bacon salad with boiled potatoes, carefully covered with cling film, and a small note stuck to the top with Sellotape. Gaspard pulls off the note and opens it. As he does, a photo falls out. He reads the piece of paper before retrieving the picture.

_Gaspard,_

_I think this might make your bad day much better,_

_Sam_

_Xxx_

Gaspard picks up the face down photo and turns it over to find a pixelated picture of two tiny blobs inside a dark circle; Samantha's scan.

"Two?" Gaspard says aloud.

"Surprise," a voice says behind him.

He turns to see Samantha standing in the doorway, wearing one of his t-shirts and smiling broadly.

"Is this real?" He asks.

"Yup," she nods.

"We're having twins?"

"Yup," she repeats.

"I need to sit down."

"You're not unhappy are you?"

The chair creaks under Gaspard's weight.

"No," he shakes his head, "I'm happy. I'm really happy. But I need a moment for this to sink in."

"That's ok. Doctor Coleman had a right good laugh when he saw my face earlier," Samantha smiles.

Her bare feet pad across the tiled floor and he feels her hand rest on his thigh.

"I'm going to lose all my hair," he sighs, "Especially if this is turns out an all-girl household."

"Don't be so dramatic," Samantha laughs, stroking his thick mane of hair, "Besides, if its girls then you need to save it. All this is perfect for making little plaits."

The alpha wraps his arms around his girlfriend's waist and rests his chin on her shoulder.

"You're right," he says, "I shouldn't be stressed. Not yet, anyway. What I will say is you should be in bed."

"I'll sit with you while you eat and then we can both go to bed," Samantha insists.

Gaspard devours his food within minutes, eager to get to bed. He welcomes the duvet around his naked torso and shuffles to the middle of the bed.

"Get over your side," Samantha scowls.

Gaspard shakes his head against the pillow and holds out his arms. Samantha rolls her eyes and joins him in the centre of the mattress, pushing her back against his chest. His long arms effortlessly fold across her front and his hands come to rest on her stomach.

"So," he murmurs, "Twins, huh?"

"Yup," she smiles.

"I think we're going to need to start looking for a bigger house."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hannah sits at her window, watching the daytime staff wander off of the grounds, switching places with the night staff that guard her home. She tries to recall names, not wanting to be the type of employer that sees the people working for her as 'guard one' and 'guard two' or 'guard that stands by the door on a Tuesday night'.

"I know that one!" she exclaims, pressing her index finger against the glass and grinning triumphantly at Alec, "That's Peter!"

Alec leans over her shoulder to view the individual accused of being Peter.

"No, that's David," he says.

Hannah's smile fades into confusion.

"I'm sure that's Peter," she insists, "Maybe it is David. Fuck it, I give up."

She removes herself from her perch on the windowsill and drops her arms down by her side in disgruntled defeat, mumbling about there being too many names in the world.

"You'll learn them all eventually, darling," Alec comforts her.

"I'll learn my left and right someday too," she scoffs.

Flinging the bedroom door open and breathing in fresh air, now absent of the dusty smell of old paintings. To her right, or maybe it was her left, Hannah notices a small, thin figure pacing the upstairs hallway. Francesca pivots on her delicate feet, looking troubled.

"She's been doing that for the last half an hour," a young man says to her.

Hannah looks to him, takes the fresh towels from his arms and switches her attention straight back to Francesca.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

She could swear that Francesca jumped half way to the ceiling upon hearing Hannah's voice. A simple look of distress crosses her face, as if the young vampire has sprung a question on her that's worth a million pounds and she doesn't know the answer. Surely she realises that pacing back and forth for such a long time during what should be her sleeping hours is strange.

"I… I'm… I don't know," Francesca replies, looking down at her feet.

"You shouldn't be awake right now," Hannah states, "It's night time and that's when humans are meant to sleep."

"I know, I… I'm sorry," Francesca stammers, "I just don't really have a sense of time."

"Elizabeth would have kept them awake at night when she was feeding on them," Alec mutters in Hannah's ear.

"Oh shit! I forgot about that," Hannah cringes.

"It's ok, Francesca," Alec says, "We understand."

Francesca puts a foot forward, ready to start pacing again, but pulls it back.

"Um, if it's ok, could I have some food, please?" she asks.

"Of course you can!" Hannah cries.

Hannah can't help but watch as Francesca practically shovels cereal into her mouth, not allowing a single cornflake to fall away from the spoon. She's now managed to forget what human food tastes like; even the most potent. She can smell it, but not quite grasp the memory of consuming it. The malnourished girl looks much better than she did yesterday night; it's incredible what a shower and new clothes can do for a person. Hannah can now see that Francesca's hair isn't the dark black-brown, messy tresses that the dust and dirt on her had originally illustrated, but instead a sandy blonde colour. Though, she's still in thorough need of a hairdresser.

"I don't think I can say thank you enough times," Francesca says, pushing her empty bowl away and leaning back on her chair.

"Why would you need to say it so many times?" Hannah asks.

"There's so much to be thankful for," Francesca explains, "You helped to kill Elizabeth, you rid the world of her awful progenies, you've ceased to feed on humans, you released every slave she had and have taken me in even though I have nothing to offer you in return."

"To be fair, her progeny is still alive," Alec says, "She disappeared a long time ago, returned to spawn Hannah and left again without a trace. The two living with Elizabeth were Hannah's vampire siblings. One of those is dead and the other has been dealt with by the country's highest authority."

"Thanks for ruining that," Hannah retorts, frowning at Alec, "You just tell her that my vampire mother is still running about with her slutty fangs."

"It doesn't make a difference," Francesca says, "I'm alive and that's all down to you. I'm grateful and I always will be."

"I think we can call it even considering I almost left you down there," Hannah smiles sheepishly.

"No," Francesca shakes her head, "I'll find a proper way to repay you eventually."

Hannah doesn't argue. She doesn't want to upset Francesca by denying her something that will make her feel better. It will be a while before she has anything to offer and even then, Hannah doesn't have to accept it from her. For now, it's not important.

"On a slightly different subject," Alec begins, pushing aside his glass of Tru Blood, "I've spoken to a select few vampires and there's good news and bad news. Which would you like first?"

"Bad news," Hannah says.

"Unfortunately, more people than we originally thought are aware of the vampire killings and I can't say they're particularly pleased," he says, pausing for a moment, "However, the good news is that a lot of the elder vampires recognise that it's a huge task taking on this position of authority as such a young age and they wish to offer a helping hand; even so far as to work with Gaspard and Sam."

"I know that name," Francesca says.

"What name?" Hannah asks.

"Gaspard," Francesca replies.

"He was here," Alec says, "Elizabeth abducted him. He must have been kept in the dungeon with you."

"I suppose the whole werewolf thing makes sense now," Francesca ponders, "A lot of the things she was saying to him didn't make a lot of sense at the time. She was talking about dogs and territory and pack alphas. All I really knew about was all the stories that my mother used to tell me."

"I have a question that might sound a little bit rude," Hannah starts, "How do you know so much about certain things without having ever seen them? I mean, you've never even seen a wolf so how to you know what they look like?"

"Elizabeth threw a load of books down in the dungeon," Francesca tells them, "Crudely intended to be used as a toilet paper substitute. There were so many different ones. Some had animals and others had the works of artists like Monet. The animal ones had photographs in them and I looked at them all the time. My mum told me what they were."

"I bet you have quite an extensive knowledge about the animal kingdom then," Alec smiles, "All that time reading, I'm sure you have a mind full of facts."

"Not really," Francesca sighs, "I can't actually read."

"What?" Hannah exclaims.

"I can work out a few sentences but my mother just read to me," Francesca says.

"Well, I'm sure that can be changed," Alec states, "I would be more than happy to help you."

"Don't you have better things to do?" Francesca asks.

"I've been around long enough to manage my time," he replies.

"I can read to you until you learn!" Hannah cries, "When you learn, you can read to me!"

Francesca smiles shyly.

"Back on subject, what would you like me to do about the vampires that wish to help us?" Alec questions Hannah.

"Maybe we should have a meeting with them?" Hannah suggests, "We could invite Sam and Gaspard to come with if they're not busy? Or we could have a meeting and then set a second one up with the vampires that don't mind working with werewolves?"

"It's your choice," Alec says.

"It's always my bloody choice," Hannah mumbles.

"That's because you're the authority figure here, dear," Alec reminds her.

"I'll have them all here. It's better if they meet, I suppose," Hannah sighs, "Some of them might not have ever met Gaspard and he's a really nice person so the ones who don't like werewolves might change their minds."

"That's a wonderful plan," Alec agrees, "Let's hope Samantha doesn't ruin the good impression."

"I think she'll be nice too," Hannah smiles, "After all, this is pretty serious."

"Let's hope so," Alec nods, "I shall make the arrangements for you."

"Thanks," Hannah beams, "Make it as soon as possible. I want them to know that this is super important to me."

"As you wish," Alec bows slightly before leaving.

"You'll like Sam and Gaspard," Hannah tells Francesca, "They're badass."


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm starting to feel like a businesswoman," Samantha says, "If this meeting goes well, I might consider going into relationship counselling. If we can get at least half of these vampires to work with us without an issue, a couple having trouble in the bedroom will be nothing."

"You don't want to get involved in any marriage that's falling apart," Gaspard replies, shrugging on his jacket, "I've been in the middle of one of those and it's not pretty."

"That's a bit different," Samantha frowns.

"No, you're right," Gaspard sighs, "I don't know why I said that."

"You're thinking about your mother because it's her birthday next week," Samantha reminds him.

"How do you remember is stuff?" Gaspard asks, "Even I don't remember and she's the woman that gave birth to me."

"Probably because you'd rather forget," Samantha suggests.

"That's likely," Gaspard says, "Doesn't make any difference though. It's not like I do much for it."

"You don't do anything. I'm the one that writes and sends the card."

"I love you for that. Not only because I would otherwise forget but also because it must drive her insane that the woman she loathes is the one whose neat handwriting she has to suffer every year."

"That's why you're her least favourite."

Gaspard nods. He catches the keys when Samantha throws them at him and both head out of the door. They take a slow drive to Hannah's mansion, discussing how to approach the upcoming situation. Apart from Elizabeth, Hannah and Alec, neither of them had ever had any kind of conversation with other vampires. Hannah has already warned them that most are fairly old; some centuries. Most likely to be stuck in their ancient ways and still harbouring the judgements placed on werewolves all those years ago. The route on the sat nav takes them directly through the centre of Chelmsford and though it's a week night with little chance of traffic, Gaspard decides on a more scenic path, driving down Writtle's winding semi-country roads. They're finally lead to a slightly more urban area before reaching the long, smoothed out dirt road up to Elizabeth's mansion. When they reach the gate, Samantha hops out of the car and buzzes the intercom.

"Who is it?" Alec's distinctive voice speaks.

"It's the big bad wolf, open up," Samantha replies.

She receives no verbal answer, but the iron gates begin to slowly move sideways. They've never visited the mansion before so when Gaspard pulls into a parking space, they both spent a moment observing the exterior.

"Elizabeth had far too much money and not enough taste," Samantha says, "Those stone carvings in the pillar are dreadful. If I were Hannah, that's the first thing I would have sorted out."

"We can't all have your opinion on art," Gaspard replies, "But they are terrible."

"Come on," Samantha smiles.

As they approach the door, the two wolves can feel the eyes of Hannah's guards boring holes into them. One of them, a large man armed with a semiautomatic pistol walks up to meet them.

"Can I help you?" He asks.

"We're here to see Hannah," Gaspard says.

The guard speaks into a walkie-talkie and continues to stand in the way of the open porch. A mumbling can be heard from an ear piece and the grip on his gun loosens.

"Go right ahead," he says, stepping aside.

Samantha sticks her tongue out at the guard as she passes him. The tall wooden front door of the mansion is abruptly flung open and a red-headed blur zooms towards them. Gaspard braces himself against the ground, fully expectant of the imminent impact. Unfortunately, Samantha is the first target and as Hannah flies at her with open arms, she's unprepared and they end up on the floor.

"Sam!" Hannah cries, "I've missed you!"

"Fucking hell, Hannah," Samantha groans, "It's only been about a week."

Hannah jumps up and pulls Samantha to her feet.

"Am I not allowed to miss you after a week?" Hannah asks.

"Well... You are but why was the rugby tackle necessary?" Samantha frowns.

"It just is."

"How did I ever put up with you?"

"No one in the world can answer that," Gaspard says.

Hannah squeals and rushes to hug Gaspard.

"How have you been?" She asks.

"We have some fairly exciting news but I think that can wait until after this interesting gathering has finished," Samantha replies.

"I want to know what it is so let's get this over and done with!" Hannah cries, "Follow me."

Samantha and Gaspard trail after Hannah and enter the mansion. The entire foyer is riddled with the scent of many different vampires. Samantha wrinkles her nose in distaste. They turn right into a room that's obviously the source of the smell.

"This is quite a turnout," Samantha says.

She counts twenty two vampires seated around the living room. Dining room chairs have been brought in to accommodate the number of attendees to the meeting. Every eye in the room hones in on Samantha and Gaspard.

"We wondered when you were going to turn up," a seemingly young man dressed in a pinstriped suit remarks.

"I think you'll find that we're exactly on time," Samantha frowns, pointing to the grandfather clock behind her.

"According to my watch, that's ten minutes slow," the man replies, smirking at her.

"Are you trying to start something already?" Samantha scowls.

"Ok, I think we all need to remember why we're here," Alec says, standing up between the two supernaturals.

"Yes," the man rolls his eyes, "We want to see if there's anything civil living in Chelmsford woods."

A dark-haired woman dressed in a red pencil skirt and matching jacket leans over the coffee table towards the man and slams her hand on the wooden surface.

"Charles," she snaps, "As your maker, I command you to shut up."

Samantha stares at the woman in surprise. A stifled laugh can be heard from behind her. Hannah stands with her hand over her mouth. All eyes move to her and she tries to remain serious, clearing her throat and standing up straight.

"I think we're all here," she says, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

The vampires look at her expectantly.

"Are you going to explain why?" A middle-aged looking man says.

"Yes, sorry, I want us to work together to sort out this werewolf problem we're having," Hannah says, "By us I mean vampires and the werewolves; the good werewolves."

"We've lost almost two packs," Gaspard says, "Each were mauled to death and any survivors kept their lives by a fraction."

"I believe our number of loses has risen to the high twenties, if not the thirties," Alec tells them.

"There's no doubt these are connected so I don't think any of us need to go over the specifics, making sure stories add up and all that jazz," Samantha adds.

"So what do you propose we do?" A woman says.

"I propose that we temporarily lift the ban for unauthorised vampires on werewolf territory," Gaspard begins, "I can spread word to the other alphas to make sure that they know meaning you'll not be attacked by any of our own. You'd have nothing to fear from us. We protect our territories and any allies within it."

"We were told that the first attack was on a werewolf pack," Charles says.

"What of it?" Samantha asks.

"Well, if that's the case then you're obviously the main targets," he continues.

"Or we were unlucky enough to be the nearest to where they started," Samantha replies.

"Either way, it seems that they keep returning to hunt down their own kind in mass slaughtering sessions," the red-suited woman says, "I'd much rather steer well clear of your territory."

"We weren't suggesting you meander about in the woods all night," Gaspard says, "You could join us in tracking these wolves."

"Oh, how lovely. You mean we can be bait?" Charles scoffs.

"Don't be ridiculous," Samantha rolls her eyes, "If we wanted to kill you off then we would have succeeded by now."

Several sets of fangs appear in the room in answer to Samantha's bold statement.

"Sam, I really don't think you're sticking to the idea of what we're doing here," Alec reminds her.

"If you want me to play nice, the other team need to be fair as well," she warns.

"Put them away," Hannah commands, pointing at the group.

"What I meant was, we can work together, watching each other's backs," Gaspard says.

"I still don't like it," a middle-ages woman shakes her head.

Samantha rolls her eyes and sighs loudly.

"What about pairing up?" Hannah suggests.

All eyes turn to the young vampire.

"What do you mean?" the red-suited woman asks.

"I don't know how any of the other pack members will react to this but what if small groups of vampires were to stay with some of the werewolves? I mean, you have a big enough basement for at least three or four if not more. It could act as… I don't know… a sort of mini army, if you get what I mean?" she says.

"It's an idea, I suppose," Gaspard says warily.

"Absolutely not!" Charles exclaims.

"Why not?" Gaspard asks.

"Many reasons," a young girl says, "Lack of food, we'd most likely be out in the middle of nowhere, severe lack of coffins no doubt and the smell."

"The smell of what?" Samantha frowns.

"Werewolf," she replies.

"I wasn't aware I smelled bad," Samantha smirks.

"It's just a scent you all have. It's just not very nice," she explains.

"How many werewolves have you had a good sniff of recently?" Samantha asks.

The girl doesn't answer. Samantha cranes her neck forward, waiting for an answer.

"Anyway," Gaspard interrupts, "What about temporary group living and blood drinking?"

"What?" several vampires chorus.

"Find a place where all of you can stay that's nearby, drink from one or two of us so that if we need help, you'll know," he says.

His response is a few amused smiles and sniggers as well as one almighty howl of laughter from Charles.

"Drink from you?" he chuckles, "What an idea!"

"It's actually quite nice," Hannah murmurs.

"You've drunk from them?" he cries.

"Yes," Hannah states proudly, "Gaspard saved my life with his blood."

"How sweet," the red-suited woman says, barely making the comment sound sincere.

"Regardless of how convenient that would be for you lot," the middle-aged man speaks out, "If any humans were to discover that a nest had formed, I can guarantee they would make a mission out of bringing us the true death."

For once, Samantha holds her tongue, keeping her opinion that it wouldn't be such a bad thing for a few of these vampires to meet the sun to herself. A young girl sitting in the far right corner of the room clears her throat to gather everyone's attention.

"As much as that's a risk, do you not think it's no greater than that of refusing to change what we're already doing?" she asks, "The reason we all agreed to this is because we're vulnerable. We're being picked off."

Her words are met with momentary silence before the middle-aged man restarts the conversation.

"Wolves," he starts, "Can they smell vampires?"

"Yes," Samantha replies.

"Then the very suggestion of us living in groups is ridiculous," he says.

"What makes you say that?" Gaspard questions.

"So you know what these wolves look like in their human form or have you only encountered a bunch of savage animals?" he asks.

"Wolves," Gaspard replies.

"Then you would never be able to spot them during the daytime when they may be casually walking past you in the street or walking past, for example, a temporary nest," he frowns, "If you can smell us, the scent would be very strong and they'd just wait us out."

"Ok, fair enough, no nesting then," Gaspard sighs.

"Oh! What about a curfew?" Hannah cries.

All eyes in the room except for the wolves, turn to the young vampire. Samantha tries to verify if she has correctly heard her whilst Gaspard closes his eyes and cringes. Alec purses his lips in anticipation. Suddenly, the room bursts into laughter.

"Bloody hell, Hannah," Samantha sighs.

"What?" Hannah asks, bewildered.

"Hannah, you just suggested a night time curfew for vampires," Gaspard reiterates.

Hannah claps her hand over her mouth, realising what she's said. Alec leans in to her.

"Pretend you were making a joke," he whispers.

Hannah nods and quickly pastes on a fake smile. Once the laughter dies down, Gaspard attempts to begin forming serious ideas. Unfortunately, the vampires had already turned away from them.

"I am such a dick," Hannah says.

"You said it," Samantha smiles.

The room is no longer paying any heed to the presence of the wolves or even their own Marshall.

"I really don't know what to suggest anymore," Gaspard admits.

Standing quietly, they can hear snippets of the group's conversations. Suggestions of flying over to their second properties abroad or moving out of Chelmsford for a while to stay with friends.

"You do realise that all of you are being really cowardly and fucking lazy, don't you?" Samantha says.

All eyes fall on her. Most of them are confused whilst others frown.

"What are you talking about?" one vampire asks.

"It's all well and good that you're discussing how to keep yourselves safe and sound but you could have done that without us being here," Samantha replies, "This was supposed to be about working together to find and put a stop to the people causing all this trouble. At what point are you actually planning to help us?"

"What on earth can we do?" The woman in the red suit questions, "None of your ideas work."

"You haven't even tried!" Samantha exclaims.

"How do you know it won't work?" Gaspard asks, "For all you know, we could join forces and have this rogue pack found and destroyed within the week."

"Oh, honestly," Charles rolls his eyes.

For the first time during the whole meeting, Gaspard begins to feel frustration building inside of him. He can't remember a time when so many of his ideas, good ideas, had been shot down as if they were a silly scenario produced from his imagination.

"Go ahead," he growls.

"Excuse me?" Charles says.

"I said go ahead. You said 'honestly' so let's be honest," he replies, baring his teeth slightly.

"I give up," Samantha says.

"What?" Hannah exclaims.

"I said I'm going, cloth ears," Samantha repeats.

"Why?" Hannah asks.

"I don't think I can handle many more stupid, snide remarks about the way we live and how this bunch of old, miserable blood suckers are still too busy judging us by how our ancestors acted instead of doing what they said they were here for; to team up and aid each other," Samantha points to Charlotte, "I'm not hearing much of that right now. I'm done. I'm leaving before I try and bite off someone else's head."

"You're not leaving, are you?" Hannah questions Gaspard.

"No," Gaspard shakes his head.

"Are you sure? You're not looking all that great right now," She stresses.

"I think I can stick it out a little bit longer," he says.

"Gaspard, please don't push yourself," Samantha quietly pleas.

"Sam, seriously," he warns

"Call me when you want picking up," Samantha says, reaching into Gaspard's jacket pocket and retrieving the keys.

Gaspard nods and kisses her forehead.

"I'll walk you out," Hannah says.

XXXXXXXXXX

When they reach the car, Samantha growls and kicks the gravel.

"Fuck sake!" she shouts.

"What's wrong?" Hannah asks.

"Nothing," Samantha replies, "Those friends of yours are stressing me out."

"They're not my friends, Sam," Hannah frowns, "They're my… somethings."

"Ok, then your somethings are getting on my wick," Samantha says.

"Come on, Sam. You're acting like you want a fight with everyone. You even have your angry face right now and all I'm doing is talking to you."

"I'm not going to be full of joy at the moment. I'm impatient, worried, annoyed and pregnant."

"Wow, no wonder you're being such a bitch."

Samantha stares at Hannah for a moment, waiting for the penny to drop.

"It might be a factor."

The young vampire's eyes widen with realization.

"You're pregnant!" she cries.

"Claps for you," Samantha rolls her eyes, "It took you all of thirty seconds to register. Isn't that a record of yours?"

"Sam, shut up and give me a hug!"

Hannah throws her arms around the werewolf's shoulders and hugs tightly, consciously keeping away from her stomach area.

"Hannah, I can't feel my arms," Samantha cringes, flexing her fingers to make sure they're still attached.

"Sorry, I'm just so happy for you!" Hannah beams, releasing her vice-like grip, "How many are you having?"

"What?"

"You're a werewolf so I'm guessing you have babies like dogs have babies. They have about ten at a time, don't they?"

"Firstly, don't refer to me as a dog. Secondly, there's no way I'm having ten pups!"

"I have it! Because werewolves are technically half human, you have half the amount."

"Um…"

"So there are five!" Hannah exclaims, throwing her hands in the air triumphantly.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you," Samantha says, "I think you might end up hurting yourself in a minute. All this brain power you seem to be using could just be too much."

"Look, I didn't even know werewolves existed until a few months ago so give me a bit of slack."

"I'm just messing with you. There are two."

"That would have been my next guess."

"Of course it would."

"Whatever, this is awesome! Have you thought of names yet? Are you going to find out the genders or is it going to be a surprise for everyone?"

"No and no and hush."

"Does your sister know?"

Samantha opens her mouth to answer but no words form. If she's going to let Elly know then it should be sooner rather than later. She doesn't know she's going to be an aunt. However, Samantha has to think about whether she wants her estranged sister in the lives of her offspring. There can't possibly be a solid relationship by the time they're born, nor could she just abandon the current unstable situation they're both in. She won't abandon Elly. She'll have to think it over.

"No," she shakes her head.

"You probably should," Hannah replies, "It might make her feel better."

"I really don't care how miserable she is right now."

"It might make her be nicer to you."

"Unlikely."

Samantha studies the mass of keys in her hands, avoiding more eye contact.

"Sorry," Hannah says, "I should have thought before saying anything about her."

"It's fine," Samantha says, "To be honest with you, I'd totally forgotten about her. I just gave her stuff over and left her to find somewhere to stay for the time being."

Behind Hannah, a door slams shut. Vibrations ripple through the air as the sound reverberates and Gaspard comes storming across the gravel.

"That was quick," Hannah utters.

"You look happy, dear," Samantha calls out.

"We're going home," he growls.

He bypasses both of the girls and gets into the car. They both wince when the door is pulled shut with such force, waiting for it to come off of its hinges.

"I think that's my cue to drive," Samantha says.

"I never realised how stubborn and... selfish those vampires are," Hannah sighs, giving Samantha an apologetic look.

"They're not very different from humans. They can quite happily think themselves above us but it's no different to racism in the non-supernatural world."

"I really do want to help."

"I know."

Samantha smiles at the young vampire and puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You should probably go home," Hannah says, "He might steam up the car with the fumes he's giving off."

Samantha turns on her heels and jumps into the driver's seat. Hannah watches the couple disappear down the driveway and frowns. She feels cheated and deceived. She invited her friends to meet with vampires she thought wanted to help and now she's stuck with pissed off friends and a group of prejudiced old fogeys. Maybe she did something wrong. Maybe she should have made a plan to propose. Or placed an order; warned them to be nice and cooperate with the werewolves or face the wrath of Hannah. She could have. But she has no wrath. No rage strong enough to put into action. None of these people take her seriously. The werewolves recognise her authority better than her own kind.

"Have they gone?"

Hannah turns to see Alec striding towards her.

"Like the wind," she replies, "What happened?"

"Let's just say that some of the others expressed a great indifference to whether the wolves were wiped out or not," Alec says, "The way they voiced this wasn't fantastic either. I thought Gaspard was going to blow the roof off. I'm surprised he didn't follow in Samantha's footsteps and bite a few heads off."

"I have royally failed," Hannah groans, "This was a disaster."

"You tried, my dear," Alec says, "I think you should probably say something to them."

"And do what? Slap them all on the wrist and say 'bad vampires go and sit in the naughty coffin and think about what you've done'?"

"No," Alec laughs, "Perhaps a stern talking to."

"Alec, they don't take me seriously," Hannah frowns, "This isn't even something I can take to Queen Ida. She will probably tell us not to get involved with werewolf business."

"That doesn't mean you can't threaten it. They don't know what you have or haven't said to her."

"I'm crap at lying."

"Another skill I will have to teach you. But for now, how about you just tell them how you feel about the way they've treated your closest friends?"

"I want to throw them in the dungeon until they say sorry."

"That's not very lady-like."

"I'm not a lady."

Hannah folds her arms and exhales loudly.

"We'll sort something out," Alec says, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.


	12. Chapter 12

"What a bunch of arseholes!" Samantha exclaims.

After sleeping off the initial fury, Gaspard has agreed to tell his girlfriend the short exchange that occurred whilst she waited outside the mansion.

"Yep," he nods.

"So they just agreed to meet with us to see if we were at Hannah's beck and call and now the twat's realised they can't use us like fucking dogs, they don't want to know? That's ridiculous! They are so far up their own arses that they're in danger of turning inside out! Wankers! Cretins! Stupid fucking nasty pieces of dead shit!"

"You're going to run out of swear words in a minute," Gaspard says.

"I don't care," Samantha growls, "They need us. We all know that. But they don't like that we have minds of our own."

"I think it's more that they're too proud to admit that after all these years, we've changed as a species," Gaspard replies, "We're not mindless beasts. They're a hundred years or so behind on history when it comes to werewolves and that makes them look stupid. It's not something people who consider themselves higher beings will readily accept."

"They're stupid for not accepting the offer to join forces too."

"I agree but that's not going to happen so we need to move on."

"How do you stay so calm?"

"I think last night proved that I'm not always that way."

"You slammed a few doors, had a face like thunder the whole way home and spent two hours brooding in bed before you fell asleep. That's not particularly off the scale with anger."

"It's just the way I am. Its how an alpha needs to be. Going off at every little thing isn't setting a good example for my pack."

"So, I would make a shit alpha?"

"Yes."

"Probably good I haven't challenged you yet then."

"Are you planning a takeover, Miss Hopkins?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Samantha smirks.

Gaspard peeks at his watch and sighs.

"We better make a move if I want to get to my shoot on time."

"Gotcha," Samantha nods.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rosie peers out of her bedroom door. She had heard Samantha's loud string of profanities and decided to stay out of the way until she'd left for work. Now she has the house to herself; a quiet environment to carry on her summer assignments. With Samantha and Gaspard being out of the house so often, she's taken full advantage of the silence. At this rate, she'll be done by the end of the week. Just as she thinks this, there's a knock. Her peace was too good to be true after all. Rosie opens the door to find a middle-aged man with greying hair standing on the veranda.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"Oh, um, yes," the man says, "I'm looking for someone named Rosie Stewart."

Rosie pauses for a minute. Looking hard at the man and wondering the reason why someone would be looking for her. His bright green eyes move nervously from side to side, looking anywhere but her face.

"I'm Rosie," she replies, "But I don't go by that last name anymore."

"I... I see," the man hesitates, "Wow, Rosie, I don't know how to say this but I've been looking for you for a long time."

"Have you been stalking me?" Rosie frowns, "Because I will call the police."

"No!" The man exclaims.

"Then why?" Rose questions.

"Well... I, um, I...," the man stutters.

"Who are you?" Rosie frowns in confusion.

The man inhales deeply, similar to how a person would if they were about to break some bad news.

"Rosie, I'm your father," he states.

Rosie's eyebrows raise in surprise and her jaw drops. She can't believe the words that have come out of this stranger's mouth; maybe she just misheard him.

"What did you say?" Rosie utters.

"I'm your father," the man repeats.

"That's impossible. My father abandoned me on a roadside when I was thirteen."

"But he wasn't really your father though, was he?"

"He's the only one I knew."

"Please, Rosie, let me in and I'll tell you everything, I promise"

Rosie sighs aloud. She has nothing to lose by letting this man tell her his story but she has no intention of letting a stranger into the house.

"You can speak to me out here," she tells him.

"Certainly," he nods.

The man steps back to allow Rosie out. She pulls the door shut behind her and stands with her arms folded, harshly staring at him.

"You haven't told me your name," Rosie says.

"I'm Martin," the man replies.

"Ok, Martin," Rosie begins, leaning against the wall, "Tell me how you've come to the conclusion that you're my real father."

"Well, for starters, I'm a shifter."

"So what? There are hundreds of us."

"Yes but not all of them were having an affair with your mother."

Rosie's stomach flips.

"You're the man my mother was having an affair with?"

"Yes. I'm not proud of it. Sleeping with a married woman, especially one married to a pack master, was wrong of me; very wrong. But I can't say that I regret it. I loved your mother, truly. But she would never leave the pack for me."

"You mean she was too scared to," Rosie corrects him.

"Your father was a frightening man," Martin says, "Forgive me for speaking ill of him but I would go so far as to say he was abusive. When I say that, I don't mean physically, but mentally. He was controlling. I was the only thing that made your mother feel free and that, I feel, was worth the risk of being caught."

"But..." Rosie urges him to continue.

"When your mother got pregnant, she knew that she was well and truly trapped. She told me she didn't want to see me anymore because she was carrying a young wolf inside her and it would mean your father would be even more controlling," Martin sighs, "After that, I didn't speak to her. I saw her a few times when she was out in town but other than that, all I could do was watch from a distance."

"So, if you never spoke again, how did you figure out I might be yours?"

"For the same reason I thought there was no possibility that I was the one that got your mother pregnant; mixed up results."

"Results for…?"

"I thought I was impotent."

In her head, Rosie is trying to piece bits of the story together. Her head swirls with the information being thrown at her.

"So, you thought that you couldn't possibly have fathered me because you were... infertile?" She reiterates.

"Well, that's the thing, I'm not. I was given someone else's results by accident," Martin tells her.

"How did you find out that they were wrong?" Rosie asks, not quite believing his story yet.

"It was much later on. I was in a relationship a few years ago and she got pregnant," he says, "I assumed that she was cheating on me and went to the doctor to check whether or not I needed to worry about my personal health. I told him what had happened and when I mentioned my inability to have children, he looked at my file and said that I was fine. There's no record of me ever being infertile. It turned out that she really was cheating on me and the baby wasn't mine but it was good news regardless."

"And you found it necessary to pay a visit to my mother and see whether or not it turned out I was a fuck up or not," Rosie guesses.

"A fuck up?" he cries, "Oh goodness, Rosie, no."

"But I was," Rosie corrects him, "To her; to my mother."

"That's not true," Martin argues, "I have no doubt that Lisa... your mother loved you very much."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you saw how it was when it got to the time I was supposed to have my first shift, the more horrified she was every time she looked at me. There was no love, just fear that I would turn out like you; wrong," she snaps.

Martin sighs. For three years he has been looking for the daughter he never knew; searching every adoption site, asking the police about lost children in the areas surrounding Warren Stewart's territory, even going so far as to check the local animal rescue centres to check if they had had any escaped strays. He had found nothing. That wasn't until a few weeks ago when he went to London and discovered a small agency that specialises in supernatural adoptions where even different kinds can be mixed; a place where a werewolf child can be adopted by shifter parents or an abandoned shifter could be found a home with her own kind. Martin took a chance at seeing if this place could help him and, low and behold, there she was. Rosie Stewart adopted by someone named Samantha Hopkins in 2010. Though it isn't normally acceptable to hand over the personal information of an adopted child, after telling the woman his story and taking into consideration that Rosie is now over the age of eighteen, she gave Martin an address. And now here he is. He should have known that she wouldn't immediately embrace her estranged father but he had hoped for less of an angry reception. It isn't his fault but he also can't blame her, she has harboured this in her memory for five years and only ever gotten half the story; the betrayal of loyalty of her mother to her father.

"Rosie, she...," Martin starts.

"Or maybe, Martin," Rosie interrupts, "You should also try telling me that she loved me dearly when she didn't say so much as a word as my father put me in the car and drove me miles and miles away before shoving me out next to a motorway."

"Rosie, please," Martin pleads.

"Stop saying my name!" Rosie demands.

"I'm sorry," Martin says gently, "If I had any idea that you were my daughter, I would never have let any of that happen. I didn't even know you were gone because your mother spent so much time in the house after you were born. It's not until I saw her three years ago that I found out."

"It took all that time for her to tell you?" Rosie asks.

"It took all that time for her to finally leave your father. I went to see her after she moved out and that's when she told me. She was so ashamed of herself for not coming to me sooner."

"Was she ashamed of herself for not trying to find me?" Rosie questions.

She starts to feel like a police officer interrogating a suspect.

"Look, I don't know why she didn't try finding you. The only thing your father told her when he came back from that car trip was that he'd dealt with you. She may have just assumed the worst."

"You came looking for me though."

"I've always wanted a daughter and if there was even the slightest chance I could find you then I had to take it; look where it got me."

"To a daughter who has moved on. I don't need a father."

"I know," Martin says, looking disheartened, "I didn't expect you to and it's very clear you don't."

"Then tell me why you're here," Rosie says.

"Because I needed to see you, just once; not from a distance," he explains, "I needed to let you know that there's one person from your past who hadn't given up on you."

"Well, as much as I appreciate it, I put my past behind me as soon as I found a real home," she states.

"I understand," he nods, "I think I should go."

Rosie doesn't reply. Martin reaches into his jacket pocket and hands her a business card.

"What's this?" She asks.

"It has my number on it," Martin says, "Just in case you ever want to talk again."

"Oh, thanks," Rosie replies.

"It was good to meet you, Rosie," Martin smiles weakly, unable to hide his disappointment, "I'm proud to see that you turned out so well even after everything you've been through and I'm sorry I couldn't find you sooner and been there for you."

Rosie watches her new-found father solemnly walk down the driveway, his hands are shoved into his pockets and his head is hanging low. She returns to the house and slowly she closes the door and leans her back against it.

"Fuck," she breathes before shouting, "FUCK!"

She covers her face with her hands and slides down until she is seated on the wooden floor. She sniffs as tears well up and fall down her cheeks. Moving her hands to cradle her legs, Rosie rests her head on her knees and cries silently.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Gaspard comes home from work, he finds Rosie sprawled across the sofa. She looks utterly miserable as she stares at the TV screen with watery eyes.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey" she mumbles.

"You ok?"

"Meh."

Gaspard raises his eyebrow. This seems beyond teenage sulking. He sits on the edge of the sofa and tilts his head to look at Rosie's unhappy face.

"Did you have an argument with Tyson?" He asks.

"No," she replies.

"Is it anything to do with him at all?"

"No."

"Have Sam's hormones kicked in and she's been an arse to you?"

"No."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No."

"What about…"

"No, no, no, no, NO!"

Gaspard stares blankly at Rosie. He's curious but he knows when to stop.

"Women," he sighs, pulling himself up.

A cushion swiftly hits the back of his head. Before he can walk away, he's called to attention.

"Gaspard, can I ask you something personal?"

"Ok."

"Why do you hate your mum?"

Gaspard turns to Rosie and laughs, baffled by the question.

"I don't hate her," he says, "I just dislike her and she dislikes me back."

"Why?" Rosie asks.

"She considers me a fuck up," Gaspard replies, moving to sit on the armchair.

"No!" Rosie exclaims, "Why?"

"I turned out as a werewolf."

The unbelievably familiar story stuns Rosie's mind. Not all that long ago, she was having a similar conversation with her father. No. Martin.

"Your mother was human but surely she couldn't have disliked werewolves at the time you were born. She was married to one," Rosie says.

"It went very downhill from the moment she asked for a third child. She let slip that she wanted a least one normal child," Gaspard sighs, "My father moved back to England with me but Phillipe decided to try is best at pretending to be human for my mother. It was bizarre how hard he fought the nature of the wolf inside him. He still tries to act the part even now when he's accepted what he is and has his own pack. He ignores all and any female werewolves and only wants a human."

"That's messed up. Who would want to be human? That would be so boring."

"The way I look at it is that if I really am a fuck up, when I take a step back and look at myself, I would see everything that was wrong with who and what I am. But I don't see it. I look at myself and see something that I'm proud of. I've followed my blood and never denied my nature. I don't see what's wrong with that."

"That's a good way to look at it."

"Why are you asking me all of this?"

"I've just always wondered and never really felt confident enough to ask."

"Ok, well..."

"And I've been thinking about my parents."

Gaspard looks into Rosie's eyes. The sheen from leftover tears makes them shine like emeralds.

"You're the way you're supposed to be. To want you to be anything different is criminal."

"Thank you," Rosie smiles.

When Gaspard leaves the room she pulls Martins business card it from her pocket.

XXXXXXXXXX

Gaspard is sitting on the bed, absent-mindedly leafing through the pages of a photography magazine. Samantha pairs up his socks and stuffs them into his beside drawer.

"Rosie mentioned her parents today," he says.

Samantha looks up.

"What did she say?"

"She was asking me about why my mother doesn't like me."

"Did you tell her?"

"Yes. She seemed surprised."

"She obviously didn't expect there to be so many similarities between your pasts."

As she goes to open another drawer to put away Gaspard's underwear, she stops with her hand on the handle. Her stomach churns.

"Are you ok?" he asks, noticing her abrupt cease in activity.

"Ye... No," she says, rushing into the bathroom.

Moments later, the wonderful sound of morning sickness reaches his ears. He puts his magazine down and collects the glass of water from the dresser. He joins her, seating himself on the edge of the bathtub. Samantha is leaning over the toilet bowl and holding her hair back. He holds the glass out to her and she takes it gratefully.

"That was a waste of a nice dinner," he smirks.

"Didn't taste so nice the second time around," Samantha cringes, taking a sip of water.

"When are we going to tell the pack?" He asks.

Samantha looks at Gaspard as though he's asked her to throw up a rainbow. She's certainly going to throw something up. She puts the glass on the floor and once again puts her head down in a bow to the porcelain king.


	13. Chapter 13

At Victoria's request, the pack have been called to meet at Loup Garou. Samantha knows all too well why. She sits on the bed, staring at the text that signifies the impending announcement. She already knows Victoria is pregnant, maybe she can just stay here and send Gaspard out on his own. She can carry on sitting in close proximity to the bathroom.

"I need to tell her," she says.

"I don't know why you haven't already," Gaspard replies, already planning out a miniature speech about how silly she's being.

"Because I feel like I'm… I don't know. I feel like it seems I'm copying her in a way," Samantha cringes, knowing how awful this sounds.

Gaspard looks at her, dumbstruck and taken by complete surprise by the bizarre sentence.

"I actually have no idea how to respond to that other than ask what on earth is going on in your brain right now," he says.

"A lot of stuff that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever," Samantha sighs.

"You can say that again," Gaspard rolls his eyes, "But in all seriousness, just tell her. Pull her to one side if you must. I don't see much point in keeping this all a secret. It's not like we've committed a crime."

"Yeah, I'll pull her to one side," Samantha echoes, ignoring the rest.

"She'll tell you exactly what I'm telling you," Gaspard says.

"Do you know if she has any human background?"

"What?"

"Does Victoria have any pure human genetics in her family bloodline?"

"This is quite a drastic change of subject."

"No its not."

"I think she does."

"Ok."

"Why?"

"Humans have those weird things they do when people are pregnant, like baby showers and stuff that generally we don't do," Samantha explains, "But if she has a close relative or relatives that are human, it's likely they'll insist on it. That means she might try and bring me into it."

"You're over-thinking this too much, mon cheri," Gaspard warns, "You'll give yourself a headache."

"I just don't like fuss," she says.

"Believe me, I know you don't," Gaspard smirks, "I remember many situations when you needed more than a bit of comfort and even then you were reluctant."

"To be fair, I can't say I liked you that much around that time."

"Don't even try it. We've had this discussion before and I won. I saved your life and you were a little less than grateful."

"So, I had a couple of hissy fits, big deal."

Gaspard laughs heartily, drawing the memories of their first few days together. Samantha was nothing more than a starving girl lost in the woods. Even then she had a fiery spirit and a stubbornness to match it. Watching her fret over breaking this news to the pack is reminiscent of when she was due to meet the pack for the first time. Pacing back and forth, playing out scenarios in her head of how wrong things could go. She stops mid footstep and looks at the empty space in front of her.

"Sam?"

Quick as lightning, she disappears up the stairs. Another waste of a nice meal.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Samantha and Gaspard reach the pub, they discover that they're the first to arrive. The normally comfortable familiarity of the outdated wallpaper and worn carpet give Samantha's nerves no soothing. Gaspard takes a seat on one of the deceivingly squishy sofas and pats the seat beside him. Samantha looks to her left, then to her right and does a three-sixty twirl on her heels.

"Oh no, Victoria is always at least fifteen minutes early, why isn't she here?" Samantha exclaims.

"I don't know; traffic?" Gaspard replies, ignoring his girlfriend's panic.

"Shit," she groans.

"I really don't get what you're fussing about," he sighs.

"You're a man, you wouldn't understand."

"I don't think it's anything to do with my gender. I just think you're a bit weird. I'm pretty sure the normal response to happily being pregnant is to call everyone in your contact list you care about and scream at them down the phone."

"I don't scream about this stuff. I want to be calm and collected."

"You're doing such a good job."

Samantha glares as Gaspard as he takes a seat in one of the comfy booths.

"How am I supposed to react then?"

"Stop being a dick and just tell them."

"But..."

"Oh, Sam, just stop it. You're getting on my nerves. Get over it. Tell them."

She sits beside him with her arms folded like a stroppy child and elbows him in the ribs. He frowns and pushes her away.

"You're mean," she pouts.

"You're annoying," he retaliates.

"I can't help it," she says.

Gaspard sighs and pulls her back to him. He kisses her on the forehead.

"Did I miss everything or did you do the impossible and turn up early?" a voice calls.

The duo look behind them to see Lance strolling towards them. His face plastered with his trademark dazzlingly white smile. He'd obviously come straight from work judging by his expensive-looking dove-grey suit.

"We did the impossible," Samantha smiles, "Victoria and Nathan seem to have swapped places with us."

"Yes!" Lance cries, "That means I can get the first round of drinks and it's going to cost me half as much. Quick, tell me what you want."

"Coke, diet, no ice, umbrella," Samantha demands.

"Nice and specific, as always," Lance says, "Strongbow for you, sir?"

Gaspard gives Lance a nod and watches his best friend make his way to the bar.

"For someone who earns fairly good money, he is the cheapest person I know," Gaspard smiles,

"Shit," Samantha mutters to herself.

"Don't start," Gaspard warns.

Samantha holds her tongue, letting her worry twist and turn through her insides.

"What's with the angry face, Sam?" Lance asks, skilfully holding three full glasses, "The mere sight of me normally makes everyone happy."

"Makes me wonder why I'm straight sometimes," Gaspard laughs.

"Well… there was that one time at Missoula but let's not go into that," Lance winks.

"I don't even want to know," Samantha cringes.

As Lance leans over to place Gaspard's drink on the table, he pulls back abruptly.

"Whoa, Sam!"

"What?" Samantha asks.

Lance sits beside her and puts his head on her shoulder, pressing his nose against her neck, and takes a deep breath.

"Wow," he exhales.

"What?" Samantha giggles, shrugging him off.

"Have you got yourself some sort of pheromone perfume or something? You smell gorgeous," he says, giving a false growl.

"Umm…," Samantha hesitates, trying to think up a response, "Behave yourself. I'll get Gaspard to beat you up."

"I'd like to see him try," Lance teases, "Come on, one more sniff."

"No!" Samantha squeals, laughing as she shoves her hands against Lance's chest.

"Spoil sport," he huffs.

Suddenly, Imogen's blonde head pops up from behind Lance.

"Who's spoiling stuff for you now?" she asks.

"Sam," he replies, "But I know what will make me feel better."

"No," Imogen says, folding her arms across her chest.

"One day," he winks.

"Dream on, sweetheart," Imogen scoffs, dramatically flipping her long hair aside.

Victoria and Nathan appear through the growing crowd around the bar, Nathan creating a path with his girlfriend following close behind. Her hair is pulled up into what was probably a neat bun at the start of the day but has slowly unravelled into a loose ponytail with parts of her fringe curling out at the sides. Nathan is visibly much less flustered than his girlfriend, especially in the hair department. Everyone has a theory that his hair has been cemented in place. For the years Samantha has known him, it's never wavered in style, length or neatness. Not possible for real hair regardless of testing if it was a wig or not when she was last drunk.

"Sorry we're late," Victoria says, "We had to pick Imogen up."

"I couldn't find my phone!" Imogen exclaims, "I'll die without my phone."

"We asked her how she could lose something she's attached to permanently when she's human but then we saw the state of her flat," Nathan says.

"Look, Sam doesn't live with me anymore so it's never going to be tidy again," Imogen shrugs.

"When I come to stay with you, I'll tidy," Lance offers.

"When do you think you're staying with me?" Imogen asks.

"Gaspard said we needed to stay in close contact with each other and you're terrible at keeping track of your phone so calling and texting you won't do anything but make everyone panic more so the logical solution is that you have someone reachable and strong stay with you," Lance explains.

"That would be you?" Imogen questions.

"Yup," Lance smirks.

"Wouldn't be a bad idea, Immy," Nathan seconds.

Imogen looks helplessly at Gaspard for his alpha opinion.

"You are the only two without someone else to help you," he says, "You might be strong, Lance, but you don't have the agility Imogen has and when it comes down to it, two sets of teeth are better than one."

Lance looks back to Imogen hangs her head in defeat.

"You're sleeping on the sofa and I'm locking my bedroom door," she states.

"Fine," Lance sighs, "I'm not interested at the moment anyway. I have Sam and she's got pretty perfume on so I can sit and smell her."

"That is creepy as hell," Nathan says.

"I don't care," Lance replies, "It smells lush."

"What is it?" Imogen asks.

Samantha feels like a deer in the headlights. She tries to think of a brand name but her mind turns blank. For a moment she can't even remember what perfume is.

"I'm not… sure. I'm not sure," Samantha confirms with herself, "Yeah, I don't know. Can't remember the name."

"You!" Victoria says, pointing a finger at Samantha, "Come to the bathroom with me, now!"

"Why?" Samantha asks, feigning confusion.

"Now!" Victoria orders.

She grabs Samantha's hand and marches her to the ladies room.

"Vic, I don't need to go to the toilet," she says, struggling in Victoria's grip.

"You're pregnant," Victoria states, releasing Samantha's arm, "That's what you were hiding from me the other day, wasn't it?"

"Vic, listen…" Samantha starts.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" Victoria interrupts, becoming upset.

"I didn't know at the time," Samantha says, "Honestly. When you said about the whole smelling really irresistible thing, I remembered something Gaspard said to me a few days before. I took the test after that."

"Oh… Sorry. What does he think?"

"I think he's overjoyed and a bit stressed. Especially because it's… um…"

"What is it?"

"There's a possibility that I… might… just might be having twins as well. But when I say might, I mean I am."

"This is…"

"Insane, I know."

"Amazing, more like! You have to tell everyone!"

"No, Vic, this is your night."

"It can be our night! Come on!"

Victoria grabs Samantha's arm again and drags her back out of the bathroom. When they reach the pack, she doesn't let go.

"Oh no," Samantha utters.

"Guys, we have something to tell you!" Victoria announces over their conversation.

"Victoria, please," Samantha begs.

"No," Victoria replies, letting go of Samantha, "Go and sit down."

Obediently, Samantha squeezes back in between Gaspard and Lance.

"Spit it out, love," Lance says.

"Well, first of all," Victoria begins, sitting herself beside Nathan and linking their arms, "Nathan and I are expecting!"

"Oh my goodness, congratulations!" Imogen cries.

"Well done, mate!" Lance grins.

"Very well done," Gaspard concurs, trying to sound as surprised as possible.

"You said firstly, what's the second part?" Imogen asks.

"It's twins!" Nathan beams.

More congrats are passed to the couple and questions of due dates are thrown at them along with bets on the genders.

"Is there anything else you want to surprise us with while you're at it?" Imogen questions, clearly in need of something else to squeal about.

"Actually there is," Victoria smirks, adjusting her glasses and looking towards Samantha.

The beta wolf huddles herself behind Gaspard and Lance, trying to hide behind their broad shoulders and willing the chair to swallow her whole. Her finger curls around the belt loop of Gaspard's jeans and she tugs it, hinting at him to step in and stop Victoria before she takes things any further. Her silent plea goes unanswered. The others turn to look at her and she feels her cheeks turning red.

"Why are we all staring at Sam?" Lance asks before frowning, "What have you done?"

"Nothing, I haven't done anything," Samantha replies, "Vic is just… she's just messing around."

"Oh no you don't," Victoria says, "She's pregnant as well."

The jaws of the pack fall open.

"I hate you," Samantha scowls.

"That, Lance, is why she smells so good," Victoria says.

"Since when were you trying for a pup?" Nathan asks.

"Two," Victoria corrects him.

"I really hate you," Samantha groans, covering her face with her hand.

"To be honest, we weren't," Gaspard smiles, clearly happy with himself and thoroughly amused at Victoria's method of announcement.

"You rascal!" Lance says, reaching across Samantha to get his best friend in a headlock.

"I'll be back in a moment," Victoria says, "I need a drink and Ian needs to be told all this happy news. I don't see Sam being willing to do it even if she could escape from the middle of the bromance going on right now."

"Don't forget, I hate you," Samantha calls after her.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hannah sits before the group of vampires who have once again regrouped at her mansion. She glares at her present company, waiting for the last of them to find a seat.

"Why are we here again?" Charles asks.

"You're here because I have a serious problem," Hannah says.

"What's that?" another man questions.

Hannah mentally prepares herself to recreate the speech she had worked on with Alec before her guest's arrivals.

"I want to be blunt and honest with you all," she begins, "As an authority figure I see it as my job to respectfully give you feedback on your behaviours. And that feedback is… you're all thick as shit."

Alec closes his eyes and shakes his head. He had warned her to be careful with her words but her anger has been boiling ever since Gaspard and Samantha drove away.

"Excuse me?" The now blue-suited woman exclaims.

"Come off it, you're a vampire, you have super senses, you heard me," Hannah snaps.

"Who do you think you are?" another woman scorns, standing and pointing an accusing finger at Hannah.

"I think I'm the person trying to make sure you all avoid being killed!" Hannah shouts, "None of you, not a single one even tried to cooperate when we met with Gaspard and Sam. I mean, what is wrong with you all? Do you really think we can afford to sit on our arses and wait for it all to go away? Just because they're a strong pack doesn't mean they don't need help and we certainly need it as well. How many have we lost? Twenty? Thirty? We won't survive. Not the way you're going."

"Everything that man suggested - if that's what you want to call him - was ludacris!" Charles says.

"He was trying though," Hannah argues, "I didn't see any bright ideas coming from your smart mouth, you snooty prick."

"Hannah…," Alec starts.

"No," Charles interrupts him, "Let her get it out of her system. She clearly needs a good rant."

"A rant?" Hannah scoffs, "This is a statement. You're idiots. You're hundreds of years old and hundreds of years behind civilisation. You can sit and snipe about werewolves and look down your big noses at them but look which race has integrated better than anyone else and then look at who is despised by most of the human population at the moment. Oh yeah, us. We are fucked unless we change something."

A mixture of expressions meet Hannah's eyes. She sees confusion, shock, disgust and anger. She's not sure whether any of them are a good thing. Charles rushes at vamp speed and appears before Hannah.

"Listen to me, you nasty brat," he growls, poking his finger into Hannah's shoulder, "Do not ever compare me to a filthy wolf. You may be our authority but there's not a chance in hell I'll…"

Charles' sentence is cut off. As a fearful expression crosses his face, Alec frowns in confusion and leans over to see what the older vampire is looking at. Surely Hannah can't be glamouring him. What meets his vision is almost horrifying. Hannah's blue-green eyes have blacked out and her fangs are fully unsheathed. In one swift movement she shoves her hands forward and sends Charles flying across the room at an incredible speed. Alec watches him hit the wall and fall to the floor with an almighty crash. Turning his eyes back to Hannah he can see that from her fingertips to her elbow her skin has turned the colour of charcoal. But almost as rapid as the onset, it fades back to her normal pale complexion. She shudders and snarls before standing rigidly. Hannah looks around the room in confusion, the only black left in her eyes is her pupils.

"Hannah, are you ok?" Alec asks, moving in front of her and holding her shoulders.

"How… how is this possible?" the blue-suited woman stutters, "You shouldn't… you shouldn't be able to do that."

Hannah looks at Alec.

"What did I do?" she asks.

"I think you should all leave," Alec says.

No one moves.

"Alec," Hannah says.

"Leave! Now!" Alec orders.

Slowly, their company picks up their coats and filter out of the room.

"Alec, what did I do?" Hannah repeats.

"Give them a moment to go," he whispers.

"Tell me NOW!" Hannah shouts in his face, flinging his arms away from her.

The blonde vampire watches Hannah's eyes flicker from blue-green to black and back again. A cold chill runs down his spine. He shouldn't feel cold. He's a vampire. He's constantly and naturally cold. She clamps her hands over her mouth.

"You just threw Charles across the room," he tells her.

"What?" Hannah smiles as though being told a light joke.

"It's not funny, my dear."

"Alec, I think I would remember if I threw him across the room."

"I don't think you were quite yourself."

"That's ridiculous. I couldn't do that if I tried. A few inches maybe but across the room? As if."

"You're right, but at the same time you're wrong. It wasn't just a hallucination on my part. The whole room saw it. Why do you think Charlotte said that to you?"

"I… I don't know."

"You threw him across the room."

"Then why don't I know that? Why don't I remember?"

Blood tears well up in Hannah's eyes.

"I'm not sure," Alec says, "If I knew, I would tell you. I wish I could tell you."

Hannah's mind reels. She can't have been out of it for more than a few seconds. A few seconds matter. A lost memory, even in that time space scares her. She might have really messed things up now.

XXXXXXXXXX

Samantha nearly falls off the sofa when a loud smash originating from the kitchen makes her jump several feet into the air. Rosie squeaks and drops the book in her hands.

"Do you mind?" Samantha calls out, "Ikea isn't exactly in walking distance!"

"I don't care!" Gaspard shouts.

Samantha watches his mobile phone zoom past the doorway.

"Technophobe," Rosie mutters under her breath, picking her book up and continuing her skim-reading.

This time only a dull thud can be heard.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Samantha asks.

"Sorry, let me get my magical crystal ball and I'll tell you," Rosie scoffs.

"It was a rhetorical question to myself, smartarse," Samantha frowns.

She makes her way into the kitchen and finds pieces of a porcelain plate shattered across the floor. Gaspard is standing with his forehead against the counter, his hands clasped together at the back of his head, his laboured breaths mixed with a subtle grumble coming from the back of his throat.

"Jake's gone," he says.

"Gone? He's… dead?" Samantha utters.

Gaspard lifts his head and stares into the empty space in front of him.

"If you want to send a text, press the little icon that looks like a flying envelope," Rosie calls.

"I won't tell her," Samantha says quietly.

Gaspard shakes his head.

"He went out on his own," Gaspard says, "Why? Why would he do that? He knows what's going on, we told all of them. Surely seeing what happened to Marc would have stopped them from running even all together. But to go alone is insane."

"Maybe he thought he could track them down," Samantha suggests, "Come back to us with a location so we could all take them by surprise."

"That's ridiculous," Gaspard replies.

"He wasn't the sharpest tool in the box. Everyone who's been attacked has been in a group so he could have assumed they wouldn't…"

"He wasn't that stupid."

"Everyone has their moments. You know how thing have been for him. Loads of others thought he was the one that attacked Marc's pack and he might have wanted to prove something."

"All he did was prove what we already know. They're out for everyone and no one is safe. No one should be alone. Now his pack have been left with no alpha, their Beta wolf is terrified and will probably want to step down at this rate."

Samantha places her hand on his arm but quickly finds it snatched out of her reach and instead finds them both wrapping around her shoulders. She's pulled close to his chest and squeezed tight.

"We can help them," Samantha says.

Gaspard rests his chin on her head and makes a sound similar to a breathy 'yes'.

"I'm falling apart, Sam," he admits, "I feel like there's going to be more and more thrown at me until I just crack."

"I'm not going to lie, I will be surprised if you don't," Samantha replies.

"I'm not supposed to though. I'm an alpha. An alpha shouldn't crack."

"There's nothing in the handbook that says you're not allowed to give in to your human side."

"I wish there really was a handbook. Then I would know what the fuck I'm supposed to be doing."

"We just need to get everyone together and go from there. Even Nicholas' pack and… and Elly."

Gaspard looks at the clock on the wall.

"We can do it tomorrow," he says, "I need to go to bed."

"I'll meet you up there. I have a mess to clean up thanks to someone," Samantha sighs.

Gaspard steps away and flashes an apologetic half-smile and kisses her forehead. As Gaspard passes through the living room, Rosie can be heard giving him more android advice. Samantha shakes her head and starts picking up the pieces of white plate from the floor.


	14. Chapter 14

Rosie lays in bed, playing with the piece of card her long lost father had given her the other day and ponders over it.

"Martin Finch," she reads aloud, "Hmm, I don't think that last name would have suited me. Yet another reason I'm better off now. Hopkins is better."

She reads his name and the number for his electrician services over and over, unconsciously memorising the digits. She groans in frustration. Her curiosity is beginning to get the better of her and she's starting to feel guilty. She was fairly nasty to him. Thinking back, she can't pinpoint why she was so angry. Martin had spent years on the move, searching for her and after all the hard work he put into it, he got nothing more than a harsh dismissal. It wasn't his fault. Well, it was partly his fault. She tries to figure out where the real blame lies but no matter what, she can't place it all on Martin. She rummages in her pockets for her mobile and opens a new text message.

XXXXXXXXXX

In the next room, Gaspard lays awake, unable to sleep through all the thoughts wreaking havoc in his mind. He can't understand how this rogue pack are evading detection and discovery with so much ease. Creatures who leave so much devastation behind them can't simply disappear, especially in such a large group. He frowns and closes his eyes, willing his brain to clear and bring forth sleep. He knows it won't happen. Beside him, he hears Samantha make a noise, something akin to a muffled cry of pain through closed lips. She pulls some of the bed sheets off of him as she tenses and curls her body. Memories of the nightmares Samantha used to have come back to him and he worries. The return of Elly to her life might be bringing them back. He doesn't intend to allow her to suffer so he decides to wake her. He turns his torso to face her but before he can say a word or do anything, he freezes. Beneath his hand, he feels a warm wetness.

"What the fuck," he whispers to himself.

He sits up and turns on the dim bedside lamp. When he lifts the duvet, his entire body turns cold at the sight underneath the covers and for a moment he can't think. All he can do is stare at the crimson slowly spreading across the bed.

"Fuck," he breathes, "Sam, Sam, wake up."

He leaps out of bed and runs around to Samantha's side. Gently but urgently, he shakes her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" she murmurs, not noticing his hurried tone.

"Sam, you're bleeding," he tells her, "We need to go to the hospital."

As quick as lightning, Samantha's drowsiness disappears and she sits bolt upright, wincing as another stab of pain hits her abdomen.

"Gaspard," she utters, her eyes instantly drawn to the blood on her pyjamas.

"I know, it's ok, just stay there," he says, shoving his legs into a pair of jeans.

He takes her hand and carefully helps her up and off the bed. When Samantha turns to look behind her, she's horrified; one huge bloodstain where she had been laying. Tears of shock and fear rapidly overflow her eyelid and the world around her blurs and becomes muffled as though she's underwater. She barely notices Gaspard wrapping her in his dressing gown and leading her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. As her foot touches the cold floor of the living room, her head becomes fuzzy.

"Gaspard, I don't feel well," she says, her eyelids fluttering.

Gaspard catches her as she slumps forward and quickly scoops her up into his arms. He can see that the inside leg of her pyjamas is dappled with red. Never in his life has he been so scared of blood. He hurries to the car and carefully places her in the front passenger seat, securing her with the belt. He jumps into the driver's side and takes a deep breath before wrenching the car into reverse and driving as fast as he can without being reckless; he can't afford to be pulled over for speeding, not right now.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hannah awakes with a jolt. A strange fear strikes itself through her.

"What was that?" she says.

"What was what?" Alec asks.

"I just felt something really weird. It was almost as if I had a bad dream and woke up from it. But I don't remember any of it."

"Are you sure it was a dream?"

"What else would it be?"

"It depends. Have you drunk anyone's blood within the last six months?"

"Yeah. Gaspard's."

"Then you just received a snippet of his emotional state. If you drink from someone you'll always be able to locate them and know when they're in danger or distress."

"That means Gaspard is in distress. But he's been distressed a lot lately and I haven't felt it before now."

Alec's expression turns from one of interest to one of concern.

"Perhaps we should pay them a visit so we can make sure everything's ok."

Hannah shudders as she's hit with another wave of fear and panic.

"Oh my goodness, I feel sick," she says.

"Ok, let's go," Alec says with urgency, grabbing Hannah's arm and dragging her out of bed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Gaspard almost skids into the parking space outside of Boreham Hospital A&amp;E. Samantha is still unconscious.

"I will be right back, I promise," he says, touching her hand and hoping that somehow she can hear him.

He leaps out of the car and sprints into the ward not caring for any 'Caution! Wet Floor!' signs. He almost slams into the receptionist's desk, breathing heavily. The receptionist looks at him over her oval-shaped glasses and gives a disapproving look towards his bedraggled hair and half-buttoned shirt. Granted he probably looks like he's just escaped from the mental hospital right now but that's the least of his worries.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"I need Doctor Coleman," he pants, "Now."

"I'm afraid I don't know where he is."

"Well, find him then. I need him."

I don't know who you think you're talking to sir, but…"

"Don't start on me. You have to find him!"

"I think you need to calm down."

"I don't think you're listening to me," Gaspard growls, slamming his fist on the desk.

"Gaspard!" a voice behind the receptionist calls.

"Zoe!" Gaspard exclaims.

"What's wrong?" she asks, taking in his obvious distress.

"It's Sam. She's… she's bleeding and… she's unconscious and I can't…" he stammers and his eyes become watery.

"Where is she?"

"She's in the car just outside."

Zoe points to a hospital porter, a young boy moving an empty wheelchair.

"You!" she shouts, catching his attention, "Go with this man and take that wheelchair with you!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Gaspard sits in a quiet waiting zone, far away from the loud, busy A&amp;E ward. With his elbows resting on his knees, he holds his forehead and taps his feet impatiently. Every time he hears footsteps, he looks up hoping to see a nurse walking towards him. So far they've only walked straight past him or it's been his heightened hearing that's picked up sounds from a few corridors away. He's been trying not to cry, or shout for someone to tell him what's happening to his girlfriend, or punch something for the last hour and a half. His half-drunken coffee bought for him by a stranger whose eyes had looked just as bloodshot as his own, has gone cold.

"Gaspard," Imogen's voice rings through the room.

She rushes to him and throws her arms around his shoulders.

"Imogen," he says, "Thank you for coming out so late."

"Oh my goodness, don't be sorry, you know I would travel across half the world for you guys," she assures him, taking a seat beside him, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Gaspard utters, "One minute everything was fine and the next there was just… blood. I've never been so… so scared in my life. Ever."

Imogen's eyebrows come together in a sad frown and she places a comforting hand on his knee.

"She's going to be fine," she says, "Sam is a tough cookie."

"Sam isn't the only one I'm worried about," Gaspard replies.

He knows Imogen had avoided bringing up the subject of his unborn children but there's no sugar-coating it. His lack of sleep, intense stress and feelings of guilt force him to be blunt.

"Don't work yourself up, you don't know anything yet," she pleads.

"I can't help feeling… maybe… I don't know… like I missed something out," he tries to explain, "Is it because I let her carry on working? Or did I miss how high her stress levels are? Did I let her put too much strain on herself? Why didn't I just…"

"Gaspard, stop it," Imogen interrupts his flow of rhetorical questions, "This is not your fault."

The two fall into a silence. He doesn't stop feeling irresponsible. With everything that's been going on around him, he forgot about what all of this could be doing to his girlfriend. He's been so busy throwing inanimate objects across rooms and pacing back and forth trying to come up with plans and theories that he forgot to keep what he already has in a stable state. He's only snapped out of his trance when Zoe enters the room and clears her throat to get their attention.

"Gaspard," she says softly.

"Where is she?" he says, standing bolt upright, ready to rush to Samantha's side.

"She's being kept in at least for the night. We've put her in a separate room so she can get some proper rest but you're welcome to stay with her as long as you want."

"Show me."

Zoe peeks over Gaspard's shoulder and spots Imogen.

"I'm afraid you can't bring anyone else with you," she tells him.

Gaspard turns to his pack mate.

"Don't worry, I don't mind," Imogen sighs, obviously disappointed about not being able to see her best friend, "Just keep me updated."

"I promise," Gaspard nods.

They hug tightly before she grabs her coat and exit the waiting room. Gaspard follows Zoe to a room near to another waiting room but far enough away for the foot traffic and rickety beds not to disturb them. She holds the door open for him and gives him an unreadable smile. Maybe sadness or hope, relief maybe. He isn't sure. He doesn't particularly care either. She leaves, letting the door slowly close of its own accord. Gaspard stands at the foot on Samantha's bed and looks at her; pale from the blood loss and even in sleep she looks exhausted. Moving to the bedside, he seats himself on the surprisingly comfortable chair Zoe has stolen from one of the offices for him. He lays his head on the covers and takes a deep, shaky breath before closing his heavy-lidded eyes.

XXXXXXXXXX

Samantha stirs as she slowly begins to awaken. The room is a blur around her and she groans quietly feeling a dull ache in her abdomen. As everything starts to come into focus she can see that she's in a dimly lit hospital room. The smell of disinfectant and coffee fills her olfactory sense. Rolling her head to the left she can see an I.V. drip hooked onto a stand with a tube leading down to her hand. Samantha curls her fingers feeling the small needle underneath her skin. Turning to the right she sees a dark mass that's weighing down on the mattress; Gaspard rests his arms and head on the bed with one hand touching her leg on top of the sheets. His back rises and falls with each breath he takes and, though asleep, his face is riddled with worry and sadness. Samantha reaches out her hand and touches the bare skin on his arm causing him to wake. Gaspard lifts his head and looks at her with weary eyes.

"Hey gorgeous," he murmurs, "How are you feeling?"

"What happened?"

"Sam... I…"

Gaspard's sentence is cut off by the arrival of a nurse.

"Mr Auclair, is there anything else I can get you?" she asks before looking at Samantha, "You're awake! I'll fetch a doctor."

As Samantha moves her hand to sit up, the needle to the drip tugs at her skin. She frowns and removes it, leaving it hanging as fluid falls in droplets to the floor. Doctor Coleman enters the room with a clipboard in his hand and a stethoscope hung around his neck; a stereotypical doctor look.

"Samantha, how are you feeling?" He asks.

"Tired and a bit groggy," she replies.

"Well, you suffered a fair bit of blood loss so that's to be expected. You're lucky your friend Mr. Hardy is a donor. He's the only wolf in stock with the same blood type as you," he tells them.

"What about…" Gaspard starts, unable to finish the question and dreading that he already knows the answer.

Doctor Coleman's hands drop to his sides and his expression changes.

"I'm so sorry, Gaspard," he says.

"We lost them?" Samantha utters, "Both of them?"

"It…," Doctor Coleman pauses and sighs, finding no better words, "It just wasn't meant to be. I'm sorry."

Samantha's eyes start into the empty space in front of her.

"Why?" she whispers, "What did we do wrong?"

"Samantha, you didn't do anything wrong. Please don't blame yourself for this," Doctor Coleman calmly pleas.

"Can you… tell us what happened?" Gaspard asks warily.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Doctor Coleman responds.

"Yes," Samantha answers.

Gaspard nods slowly in agreement.

"It was a chromosomal problem," he explains, "A problem that the foetuses couldn't handle and it stopped their development in its tracks."

"You mean it was a DNA problem?" Samantha questions.

"Essentially yes," he nods.

"Hugh, be honest with me," Samantha says, her voice shaking, "Was it the same thing I have? Was it what makes me what I am? Was it in them too?"

Doctor Coleman's face gives her all the answers she needs. The very curse that fell on her upon conception had been passed to her unborn children. It has taken them away before she's even had them.

"I assure you that this is an unbelievably rare case. A genetic trait like yours are hardly ever passed on," Doctor Coleman says, hopelessly trying to comfort the couple.

"But they were," Samantha says.

Doctor Coleman purses his lips.

"Hugh, would you mind giving us some space, please?" Gaspard requests.

Without a word, Doctor Coleman leaves them alone. Samantha leans back against her pillows and goes back to staring straight ahead of her. Gaspard places his hand on hers, waiting for her to say something. They sit like this for a while, neither sure of what to do.

"I can't believe it," she finally speaks.

Gaspard squeezes her hand tighter.

"Sam," he utters.

"How did this happen?" she asks.

"I don't…" Gaspard starts.

Gaspard is unable to finish his sentence before she bursts into tears, covering her face with her hands. He stands and wraps his arms around her tightly.


End file.
